Poetry snapshot of a homeless man.
He drinks his beer out of a large silver can.
He calls me Tex.
Only he could tell.
He sat on the sidewalk.
Damned and covered with a fine white
He tells me.
Another homeless man sprayed him with a fire extinguisher.
And pulled a sip from his beer.
“Take them to prison!”
With his voice cracking.
He held out his filthy
Rough and scalely, red and slightly bleeding.
“I like you Tex.”
“Thanks.” I stared at him.
Like someone dropped him in flour.
The white dust shook free from his clothes when he pulled a sip from
Withered, wrinkled, white powdered.
An ugly mustached Geisha.
Eyes dark and wet,
Mouth bright glossy red against the matt white.
“You need to wash that stuff off your face.”
“I’ll be ok.”
“I like you Tex.” And he held out his hand again.
I turned and walked away.
Copyrighted January 13, 2008