The Night Watchman

Waking up to the cold deep inside
My consciousness floating over pits of despair
Looking down at who I was before
And where I am headed today
Cup of steam in my hand
Warm at the bus stop if I can lean in
Staring down at the liquor bottles from the night before
I wonder what he was thinking, sitting here before dawn
Just a few hours before me
Waiting for the day to come, another day and another bottle
Begging for change on the street
Keeping watch over the evening
I come here each morning, and watch the remnants
Get blown away by the wind
St. Ides,
St. Ides and cigarettes
Still warm with breath
I take a hit from my cup of steam
And observe the start of a new day