The Yellow Flannel Shirt

(first draft, stream of conscious. I'll post my rewrites as I progress. I already changed the name. I wrote this on a pad of lined paper just now and then typed it up, so even that changed a few of the original words)

The Guy In the Light Yellow Flannel

I just saw a man walking down the sidewalk, 

Crying. Curly hair, a bit shaggy

A plaid flannel with big chunky squares

Like the one I’ve got on.

He looks DEEPLY

Sad

Wondering why life has to be like this,

Shaking his head.

He has a bag in his hand. With a large can of 

Cheap, shitty beer.

Just a homeless drunk.

No, I saw his eyes

Clear with sadness and heartbreak.

Maybe homeless…

His beard isn’t that scraggly

His clothes aren’t that dirty.

Why does this make him seem more deserving of sadness?

Of heartache, of my sympathy.

I’ve come to despise the 

Angry, smelly, vile, violent bodies 

Looking pathetically at me while I 

Wait at the stop light

Late for work.

(I can’t even afford my coffee today.)

Huddled together

Hiding from the rain around a plastic table

In between the small green and bron hills of tarps and tents

On the side of the freeway

As I curse the damned traffic

Making me late for the gym.

How can they just camp there?

Why are they allowed to put down

Wherever they want?

The police stop every young person

Every black or brown person who dares to pull out their phone

But they can’ make these motherfuckers move?

Somewhere else?

At least before I could enjoy my music

And shitty traffic

Without looking at them

And the pile of bikes

New bikes.

My sister’s $2,500 bike 

That got stolen last month

Is probably there.

I’ve got half a mind to 

Stop here on the freeway and have a look.

What the hell will they do about it?

They probably have 

Knives, and look

Traffic’s moving.

“Keep my sister’s bike another day!”

I shout.

“I’ll be back”

I haven’t said anything.

Just white knuckles 

On the steering wheel.

The gym made me feel better.

I’m having my coffee now.

I guess I can afford it.

Looking out the window

Thinking how stupid

I feel. About last night

I was so drunk

So drunk

I told someone, I didn’t know

How lucky they were

To still have their Mom

To stop bitching and

Call her 

Give her a hug, while

While you still have her. 

I shook with righteous knowing

Superiority 

And suddenly I didn’t care that this guy just didn’t get it.

I wanted to hug his mother.

I wanted to tell his mom, 

I’m sorry!

I’m sorry I told you 

Someday  you’re going to get sick!

Because you refuse to take care of yourself

You refuse to listen to the doctors

And don’t ask me for help then

Don’t expect me to be waiting around

To take care of you then!

The party had gotten quiet

I was screaming 

At the poor kid who’s

Only sin was 

being so lucky as

To take for granted His loving mother

To not yet have to realize 

He would miss that nagging 

He’s bitching about.

I had spilled my beer.

I was shaking

Spilling all over me and the ground

From the can of my cheap, shitty beer.

My coffee steams still

The street wet and the sky sad.

The curly haired guy 

With the plaid flannel

Sits at a wooden patio table

His head in his hands

I wonder where his mom is

She would hug him 

and tell him 

everything’s gonna be alright.