I heard death yesterday
speaking in tongues
spare change he said - garbled,
moving through the F train
then I smelled her foul air - next to me
moved by a torn fan
from the grizzled, worn face
past a mouth - once beautiful
now rarely kissed.
Then again - I saw him
quiet, dark, covered up, on a milk crate
at the top of the stairs
as I passed into daylight
looking for love.
Copyright © 2011. Doug Claybourne. All Rights Reserved.
