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Added 6 July 2000
He looks the wrong way
as he talks to no one about death in 'Nam
and the fucking cunts.
The brown bag at his side is as empty
as his fetal position.
There must be a reason
why his back is turned
from the supposed view.
Getting up, leaving his goods,
he walks to a group
of three homosexuals
who last about a minute with him
.
A couple flees as they leave,
perhaps fearing to be next.
He staggers back to gather
the oblivious goods then walks
straight as an arrow towards me.
"How's it going?" I ask
at his approach.
Pointing, he says, "Pen in hand,"
then nods sagely.
Infinitely wise compared
to my own feeble phrase,
that was his only response
before walking away
in his STAFF T-shirt.
I follow soon after.
Every direction is now
the wrong way to look
without him here.
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