The Trash Compound

I watched him

Turn the corner

At the edge of the building.

I knew this man.

I’d propped him up before

Removing his sodden boots

And socks

Cleaned his feet

Putting fresh socks on

His peeling feet.

But I wasn’t having this.

Walking into the trash compound

He tugged at his zipper.

Momentarily

A stream of fluid

That I guessed was

Mostly beer

Ran around his feet

Into the parking lot.

Before he could re-zip

I was out the door

Awaiting his emergence

From the trash compound.

Expecting renewed compassion

I disappointed the aging drunk

With scalding retribution

And harsh berating.

He acted more shocked than ashamed.

That fueled my anger

And he walked away

With his shaggy head down.

You can throw up in my arms

But you sure as hell

May not pee in my trash.