it was a very
nondescript truck

perfectly blended with
the environment

more building than
machine

it hadn't moved in
over eight years

the tires had melted into
the asphalt

and random weeds started
to grow around them
into the thin layer or dirt and
sand

I must've passed by it
thousands, tens of thousands
of times

paid it no mind

until it was
no longer there

Now where the hell was it?

Did the authorities
finally decide to tow it?

And if so
did they know
that truck was somebody's home?

I never learned his
name

but I heard he moved in
there after
the war.
State gave him enough money
to buy a small apartment or
something, but he chose that
old truck

some people are
bums by choice

Walking by
I'd see him in arid summer days
sitting behind the wheel
windows rolled down
a stumpy cigarette between his lips
a small chapbook in his hand

Never got to see the title
but I do recall
the image on the cover
't was a burning tree with one
shadowy, just vaguely human
silhouette hanging from it

He probably wasn't the kind of man
you'd want to
have in your circles
and perhaps his image dirtied
the overall aura of the neighborhood

I don't know
Don't care

All I do know now is that I'll never
get the chance to
walk up to his truck
and ask him what he's reading
and show him that I
too have chapbooks of my
own now

and I too
enjoy dark poetry

Well,
we both
probably enjoy
goodbyes
even more 

Many thanks to LatinosUSA —English edition for featuring my poem, "fellow lover of dark poetry"!

Check it out HERE!

Thank you!