The guy pretending to fish
and his old lady ask
if I have a cigarette; the
full moon philosopher
convinced my walking stick
was made by David Carradine
air out his feet smoking spice.
I make a mental note
to check on him — from a distance —
in case he gets some fentanyl laced shit
can’t have him go all oak-chested
I don’t carry Narcan anymore
and the state fair makes cops twitchy
more interested in keeping the tourists happy
less so one Kung Fu obsessed skeleton
his skin suit all stretched his eyes
on a different television station
his ears plugged against collective commercials
he doesn’t ask for smokes but somehow
I feel like if I was smoking
he’d tell me
they were rolled by the Marlboro Man
Tag Archives: night shift
these nights
these nights are brutal honest. here
the river currents lap off all artiface
silence envelopes all noise culture
and what’s left? those bones dancing
along the wharf laughing telling
stories unbrittle polished by shadows.
After the rain
I find myself digging brazil nuts out of my trail mix,
atypically. Not even bitter like they can sometimes be
there ‘s just too damn many. It’s easy to eat around the coconut…
when I step on the wharf to get some fresh air and listen to the crickets
distracted I accidentally eat a brazil nut.
I should be kinder I tell myself
after denying the tourist use of the bathroom
I should be kinder
but this is not a kind city, not how they sell it
her spinning like a marionette next to the stage
but this wharf at 3 in the morning is for the lonely
and for fishermen, for the lonely that jump sometimes hoping
to turn into a fish — but they are dredged back on shore isolated
like discarded brazil nuts