sitting in the chill
he wears a jacket over his shirt
sweat pants, socks with shoes
believes he wears bare essentials
but under it all
a naked chest, flaccid penis
bare feet that wish
to run like the wind
beneath and above
the he of him, treads
memories flooding
streets outside his door
toddler in dirty diapers
teenager raging in the night
family man, two jobs and a side gig
on and on to an old man
sitting in the chill
writing about what lies
beneath and above
that he cannot shed or scrub clean
10-5-20
My husband's poetry 
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