|
Wells & 22nd |
The raggedy man,
two days ago
released from the psych ward,
does not speak,
but sings like a bird in spring.
Delphi leans into me,
whispers in my ear,
"I’d sing, too, if I remembered how.
So would all the shrinking people
on this sidewalk."
The raggedy man
never meets our eyes,
his gaze set by
Horace Greeley—
he smells the ripening
melons in Rocky Ford.
His feet migrate toward
the thin line one never meets.
copyright 2005
Kenneth
Gurney |
