king's highway

he tells you, embarrassed,
but not too much.
about the three meals,
the chores.
the room he shares
with a stranger, both
trying hard to find
a way out, and back into
the world of commerce
and independence.
it's a bus stop,
a shelter for ninety days.
walking the straight
and narrow line of sobriety.
he tells you, with a whisper,
about being strong,
being still a man, but
losing, losing so much,
so often to bad luck,
bad turns,
decision made too often
with no lessons learned.
he takes his bag,
and wanders back into his
own life. a pocket full
of cash, a slow gait
up king's highway.