He fingers the sunburn blisters
on the ridge of his balding scalp.
Looses another button on his shirt
so the absent wind can waft his chest.

Nibbles at the salty jerky and flips
around the freezer bag with bottled water,
a granola bar, some tube of fruity gel.

Melting into the bench in front
of the church that gave him the sack,
he watches the sun rise like an angry god.