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