Grounded

It’s not much,
but it is all that’s left,
and most nights
that’s enough.

The scavengers have
come and gone,
taking anything of value
with them in their raid;
copper wire,
a few rusted tools,
even the interior door hinges.
But that doesn’t matter;
with so little,
there’s less to work around.

He considered sweeping up once,
but where to find a broom,
let alone the motivation?
Besides, his worn sleeping bag
doesn’t take up much room,
and as the days go on,
he takes up less and less space.

It won’t be long before
he can fade into what’s left
of the paint on the walls.
There’s a solitary comfort in that.

He goes to the window,
one of the surprisingly few
sporting spiderwebbed cracks.
A sparrow flies low,
and for just a second,
their eyes meet.

He returns to his roll on the floor,
zips himself in,
and lulls himself to sleep
with visions of flight.

James Benger is the author of several books of poetry and prose. He is on the Board of Directors of The Writers Place and the Riverfront Readings Committee, and is the founder of the 365 Poems In 365 Days online workshop, and is Editor In Chief of the anthology series. He lives in Kansas City with his wife and children.