I saw an old man
nestled in a nook
beside the sidewalk, 

a plastic jug 
of night diesel
beside well-worn, 
second-hand boots,

combing greasy hair
with parted fingers, 

and rubbing his eyes -
child-style -
with loose fists.

He was awake at an hour
to get to a job
that he didn’t have.

Instead, he’d amble / stagger
along the riverside,

taking frequent stops 
to taste the bathtub concoction 
made in the bathtub 
that he didn’t have.

And somewhere,
at some undefined hour,
he’d drift into 
a restless death-slumber
to repeat it all again —
“Groundhog Day” style.