I've grown attached to Him.
The exceptionally tall wino who travels Vine St.
Catching Him on my first day. . . with the years
Watching the minutes,
Finding it now in the moments,
The cancerous futility of His existence
still cradling the necessity of his life.
Watching as He loses height,
Pulled tightly from His gut
The body curls.
Spare change. Successfully numbling our eyes
As we look into display windows.
I am attracted
Using my imagination to straighten His shoulders,
Shaping His muscles into tight blue-jeans.
God, why do I need to be His witness?
That He stalked Vine St.
That the tourists on Hollywood Blvd. made way for Him,
As He pissed privately on the stars.
jeanne rene ...the late 70's