The sidewalk steams

heat rises

yet there he is

under a plastic tarp

wrapped like a tamale

a hot dog in a bun

his flesh meeting

the burning sidewalk

 

he does not stir

the pavement heats up

he becomes bacon in a frying pan

it must be 100 degrees

why choose this place

to park to stay to sleep

why not pick a patch of grass

the shade of a tree?

 

the mystery of the homeless

is that they sleep on pavement

on sidewalks or entryways

resisting beds 

the softness of earth

preferring hard landings

their independence

 

piled up against the wall

like a tattered tumbleweed

he sleeps undisturbed

this is the place he chose

where the wind carried him

somehow he survives.