A Typical Day, Bright Brother

There you stand in your idiotic two piece

suit, small flesh, and bald head. Clenching

a perspiring Rum & Coca-Cola.

Nearly lifeless, in a town that is in itself


Outside, the pop-eyed, goat-faced man stretches

his corn-pipe legs hoping for you to toss

a dime at his empty wrinkled belly.

You do not understand the points on a compass.

Across the restaurant, you spot a girl,

the image of your mother as a child.

She is listless, daydreaming of a honeymoon

in the hills, a car crammed with black market

tires and charred wood.

You seek out a little romance of your own

and approach her like a full blown

butterfly 250 years in the making.

You are led by hand to a room

the color of the neighborhood.

She offers you cold water to wash your hands.

You sit where all have been invited, but none

would respond.

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