‘Dumpster Love’

May 28, 2013

Do you know Dementia? asks the crazy eyes

on the B. Dirty hair explodes down his chin

like rust and each word spoken sharpens with hate.

Confusion at the tight jeans, general location,

sleeve tattoos has sullied him. Society’s soiled

diaper bound for trash heaps. Dumpster love.

 

We cross the river, gaze avoiding gaze,

and he mumbles something about a pair of sneakers.

What wishes granted could return a mind gone

in cyclone chaos? He rides endless trains

to talk to strangers, to live, to feel, to shirk

a burden of eternity. The old man dies —

 

not the way the rest go, but alone

as night and stark as parking lot orange lights.

We all exhale collectively upon

the hours of our ends, but crazy face

released himself an age ago. What walks

is lurching disappointment in the flesh.

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