mostly unwatched by me, a leatherskinned old laborer
his back to the hot bricks, beer bottle tilted against his bony bluejeaned hip
sucking a cut on the side of his gristletack thumb
crinkles his crowsfooted eyes, thunderheads in blue iris skies
looks wistfully at passing icecreamconed children
I worked on the bridge they got, he sprawls in southern sideways
to anyone, to me
guess I'm the mark for today's hobo storytime, least til the bus comes, late again
newspaper goes into sunshield mode, for now
seen all kinds of people there, he moans, some in joy, some in pain, people is people
this one time, just, this little girl, daddycarried as she passed, these eyes
like a fencecaught jackrabbit, sort of a quiver
and these chinadoll hands, too little really to grasp anything, maybe mommy's nose, a redpedaled rose
one of these hands outreached to me, pink and porcelain, feltsleeved elbows, a kinda longing desperate grasp
what business is it of mine he says
her with her daddy, me the strangerfaced old steeplejack, utility belt, roadcone orange
eyestorm breaks now in the retelling
those moments when you're Jesusspoke, you listen. take care of these my lambs or someshit
but sometime old grayfaced reason shows up all headreared
you already hurt plenty kids, says lady reason in cool bay fogwinded voice
I compromise, fingerwiggle goochigoo, smileseek, nothing, and daddy walks on toward thicker mist
leaving me alone wonderpuzzling about painwrecked little girls
Then just as he's enough away, he up and chucks that little rabbitprincess into open sea, hops up on the railing and deadfalls after, out, down, soundless
that, that'll fuck you up
he laugh sighs, as if it's any kind of answer
and just then my bus comes, late again, goddammit
