dead pencils
still leave a mark
salvaged from the litter bin
gave most of their everything 
         from within
now surrounded 
                    by cigarette butts 
salad oil      tuna tins     phone
messages   hydro bills   coffee
grinds                    orange peel 
rotting spinach              or kale
     broken 
shoelaces             leftover pain
                               a sad refrain
    still saving a few scant lines
                               of sentiment
for a man
and a night
and a poem

                               for a shadow

© 2016 j.g. lewis