story

November 14, 2018 at 3:30 pm Leave a comment

STORY

that quiet
desperation fills you, for
a moment
as you listen to his story (the old
drunk’s story)…
you realize
he is as you, save
for face, name, a few
vagaries…

but he is old, and you
are horny, and
a whore on the corner
beckons. If not
love, lust, and the quick’ning
of the blood
(you can understand the ones
who regard
sex as exercise, though knowing
them blind)
that bespells you…

so you leave him, you
stagger away.
It is odd that
all that of meaning
in that day’s passing
remains
is his story, and
(his incongruous, his beguiling)
his smile.

______________________________________________________________

The line between truth and fiction is quite narrow (if existent) at times.

Entry filed under: Ancient Poetry, social psychology, voices. Tags: , .

shadows for S. Delany

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