There’s a homeless man
named Keith.
He lives on the bench
That belongs to the store at night.

He walks in everyday
right before we close
and buys Sprite
and red yarn.

This terrible town’s
only hobo
that doesn’t smoke smokes
or drink drinks.

He wears a sleeveless brown coat
Like a bloated sheep.
His eyes always look tired.
“Thank you.”

I don’t know what he does with the yarn.
I think maybe
hobos
don’t know how to knit.