Waiting for public transit
i sit next to a homeless man,
talking to a street performer,
playing spainish guitar.
He talks nonsense to him closely,
about space and war.
He plays, looking forward
with wide glass eyes.
The man loses interest in the musician and turns to me.
i tell myself to look at him
so i can hear what he says,
so i know what to write.
The burrito i’m eating is so poorly made
that i must perform cunnilingus on it -
eating it outright.
I hear about boys and girls on posters, i think -
My eyes unfocused, downcast.
He gathers his bags of newspapers,
but he does not wipe the phlegm from the corners of his lips
and i see his engorged left calf as he walks away.
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