Old Men and Coffee

This morning, garbage and neighbors explode on the sidewalk.
Old men scratch through trash with their canes, tired wheels,
while trucks clang up the street. Once the men were the fat talk
with girls chirping at them from balconies. The men had marble eyes,
billfolds with cash. Now the gray live on the once-once block
of their age. Shuffling through refuse for a quarter and a lie
to tell over coffee; they take it hot, thick, and black.