the winning of the west

the winning of the west

they graze the crowded streets, the bison men

they rifle bins in search of cans worth ten

they start their day with backdoor barroom deals

the morning paper brought for shots and spiels

their jaundiced flesh is layered thick and sewn

with shaggy coats : salvation army grown

on winter nights they ply the park called west

and curl in boxes meant for thermal quest

then Charlie swoons and falls and breaks his head

and Eddie pisses streams of bloody red

corraled in beds with metal fences locked

their western world is opened up, restocked-

when quiet nights the city men appear

remove the shopping carts of hallowed gear

and now the skaters skate the lonely park

in drunken circles sobered quick by dark

in memory of Eddie Jawor

Poem found on a telephone pole in Ann Arbor