He’s broken

He’ll never fit into society

Black skin that absorbs the sun

W/thick bifocals

& worn out cowboy boots


There is no one like him

He says his prayers to the beads

of  a rosary as though they are people


He says he’s a Hollywoodproducer


He loves his board care w/

the rest of the crazies

He loves the French toast there too


Once a marine,

now part of the system

he wonders why I don’t visit him

in the hospital anymore

We smoked Winstons together,

out there in the courtyard

I stopped returning his calls

when I got out


It’s a burden on my conscience