Stopped At A Light
I see a man tightroping
a broken line. Cars gore
the air around him.
He totters in their wake.
He’s in his late forties,
dirty blond, blood shot
thru his eyes, a piece of
cardboard cradled loose
as a rifle under his arm,
one scrawled word: “hungry”.
I close my eyes--see him now
wadding thru a rice paddie,
tracers sparking the blue,
a ghost platoon fanning
out around, a brother to
my hands, my tongue,
my eyes--see him and for
a flash imagine I can save
him, pull him out of the dark
water, give him another life,
but then the light changes,
and I realize I can’t, I can’t,
I’m late, and the light is
green, and there are so many
streets like this, and so little
I can change by going back.
Page(s) 10
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