O'Ryan

I've made my way home in the dark more often of late,
Slipping from my car,
And making my stealthy way through the front door.
I'll often regard the sky
With the casual observer's interest,
And find O'Ryan's belt,
Slung low around his waist.

He is the one,
The one people mos misinterpreted.
He has let the times change him,
A burning pin prick in his hand.

I always find him at night,
Leaning against the wall of some rusty red brick building,
Smoking a cigarette.
We know each other from highschool,
We saw each other in the halls.
I covered for him once,
And saved him some dirt,
So now we exchange nods.
Admitting to awkward recognition,
His grimy hands throw away the stub.
The sparks shine like starts where it hits the sidewalk.
He'll keep smoking,
And i'll know where to find him
If I find that I ever need one.