He Strutted: A Poem

As he exited the 
Rickety building with the peeling paint and the 
Broken windows and the 
Vines that choked the walls, 
He strutted. 
He strutted as if he had somewhere to be, 
As if someone important was expecting him. 
He strutted as if the night was his friend, 
As if the world was his home and the 
Sky was his roof. 
He strutted as if the words 'park bench' meant nothing to him, 
As if he had enough sleep to sustain him and 
Enough food to eat each day. 
He wandered, a misplaced survivor. 
His shoes refused to slow, 
And so he strutted.