By Christine Jackson
The fat old men thaw in the winter sun.
Thighs spread, they sit in a circle
Around the asphalt’s single patch of sunlight,
Talking of doing hard time,
Munching provolone sandwiches.
The young guy out on probation
who lives in his car
Opens the hood and slams it,
Opens the trunk,
Rearranges his furniture,
And slams it,
Then finds his place for lunch
Around the patch-of-sunlight campfire.
Christine Jackson teaches literature and creative writing at a South Florida university. She
also presents creative writing workshops for local writing communities. Her poetry has
been published in print and online publications, including The Sandy River Review, Shot Glass
Journal, Autumn Sky Poetry Daily, Stay Weird and Keep Writing, and A Quiet Courage.