45

Hope stumbles onward
laces reaching back
tabs flapping
in the breeze
through mud and muck and trash 
She’s never without a 
cigarette
She keeps the flame alive
even when the wind
and rain 
do their best to make it die

She stuffs her coat with papers
blocking out the cold
and praises rotting
vegetables
as worth their weight in gold

Throughout the howling ‘round
her
smoke covering her lungs
she always sees a better path 
ahead than where she come.