He stands outside the Starbucks at the corner of Portage and Main, a scruffy, disheveled-looking fellow, arm outstretched. His faded NYC cap flipped over remains empty. The passersby are not generous today. Monday, always a rush. Pushing out spittle, he smears his fingertips with his pasty white tongue and smoothes the bristles on top of his head. Maybe if he tidies up a bit. It’s that pesky mutt muscling in on his turf. It’s back again; an urban ghost. He takes a kick at it, shooing the critter along, but the miscreant doesn’t budge. Smells something awful too. A woman in a tumble of blonde curl, stoops to drop a few coins in the cap. His arm now fatigued, droops low. He musters an anaemic smile, the spaces, black and melanoid. The dog is circling, looking for shade, water, grub; comfort. Loose corrugated skin dripping off bone. Another good Samaritan. Black coffee and banana. He sinks down along the wall, on the shady side, to feed, legs outstretched, his cap back on his head. Coffee still hot. The dog too slumps down in the shade. The pavement here is cool against its belly; its panting beginning to slow. “It’s fresh, man,” the passerby says, extending the deli-wrapped pepperoni. Wafts of spice and grease tickle the sinuses as he swipes the bounty under his nose like a fine cigar. “Here Lucky” he whispers, leaning toward his sidekick. “I ain’t gonna forget you none”. Word count - 242 Forthcoming in Poems for the Writing: A Textbook
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April 2024
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