white gauze and matted papertape
sandwiched in filthy pantlegs, rotting flesh.
he’s got three teeth (two on the left); he’ll
tell you that the sores have gotten better
since the maggots. says he sees your aura
(goldish-green) and that
he’s grateful for each day he has. now:
could you spare a nickel? seven cents?
it’s been a while since eating now and no,
he doesn’t want the apple. can’t chew it with
the gums. but now -
that jess, he hasn’t seen her in a while; he’s
heard – well, better not to say. suspicious.
always people listening. can’t complain, he’s
making do, he’s got his health and that’s
the main thing. nevermind
the sores. there’s a nurse who’s good to him.
she wants to help him, says she’ll
get him into rooms but he’s alright. been sleeping
rough for years now, can’t remember any
other way.
you know, he says, he’s got some friends -
they’re well-to-do – will set him up with
real estate in florida but couldn’t
leave the city, no, and then
the legs to think about. chagrin
and grimace while he shifts and grins,
winks missing teeth. i have hard times, but
i get by. now baby – you take care, and see you
round. and you can hardly stand to walk away
or not. you hope the nurse
is real, that someone stands to touch him, ease
his filth. he got the bandage someplace,
after all.
you don’t know if the dollar helps
or not. he takes it with a smile. don’t
no one want to grow up homeless, baby,
but it ain’t so bad. his bottom tooth
is gold.
