Cardboard Box Man
Old captain’s blown off course in wintry sea;
too tired to swim,
his future’s dim,
a desperate man drowning helplessly.
He’s useless driftwood, bobbing with the tide;
the current’s strong,
he’s pulled along.
He’d grasp a proffered hand despite his pride.
No hands or hearts reach his way to console,
No one is searching for the struggling soul,
awash in sea of blind humanity,
a flotsam float,
in jetsam coat,
with old news covering his vanity.