The man on the corner curb,
knees bandaged and bloodstained,
with a wink from his drunken
Long hair like seaweed
glued around his neck and shoulders.
of a tortured past, says he sees miracles
looking into storefront windows.
ignore him, only children notice,
tugging on pant legs with defiance and
Says he plays cards with leprechauns,
has lived through an avalanche which fractured his
into two. Unravels his bandages and shows
his wound: can’t remember how it happened.
floods his open hands.
His mouth, catching drops like
Copyright © 1995 by Allison Grayhurst
Published in “The Pangolin Review, Issue 3.5”, June 2018
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