life is good

he gets paid
on a Wednesday,

so he disappears into a fog
of drinking,
carousing with his pals.
plotting some nefarious
scheme.
like boys in a tree house.

he doesn't show up for work.

he's not at the spot where I pick
him up.

sitting there with a cigarette
and his thermos
of god knows what inside.
his painter pants on,
his shirt inside out.

he's flush.
he's got dough now. his wallet bulges
with disability money.
food stamps.
hand outs. fat on three squares
a day
at the shelter.

life is good.
getting the big C
was strangely
the best thing to happen to him.