Gift
He pulls himself
Out of a box.
It is a good box,
Not too many cycles
Of getting wet
Then drying, corners still
Detectable. It has position
Against a silent brick wall
And takes some strength
From a convenient and willing
Chain-link fence. There are
Still things to be thankful
For. He marvels at the
New donated old red shoes that
Three weeks ago belonged,
With any future use worn out,
To someone else. He dreams the
Strange and tortuous journey
They must have sustained
Just to get here.