Tim Wildes
Outside of town – about 43 miles,
a man was found.
Evidently, he had walked here,
presumably unable to find his destination.
Leaning against a tree,
the man’s figure was unnatural,
uncomfortable to one’s regard.
His skin blends of grey and red,
his forehead peeling away.
The sun hadn’t been kind to the man,
her rays coloring him more aged than before.
Even now, his shoulders positioned heavy,
pointing to the gravel in front of him.
It’s hard to say when the man last consumed anything;
hunger and thirst
carved into his ankles.
One could pick him up from under the ribcage,
there being such a step between his chest and hips.
His lips were cracked and bloody –
thinned enough to suggest there was nothing there at all.
Yet despite this,
these lips crooked into a smile;
his dried eyelids twitching,
open and shut.
Art by Sean Bergin
Wildes Writing 
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