25th & York

One is crouched over his ankles
his flame waning
burning off his laces
with a scavenged Bic,
face nondescript,
it is of utmost importance
that his laces be neat;
the rest is disarray.

One swims in a cacophony
of discarded aluminum,
bellows Incan incantations
Feliz Navidad!
Chased me to my gate, once,
barked like a Doberman.
I should have scratched his ears
said good boy, old man.

One, all pink flesh, asks for naught
pupil embers glow from the recess
God bless you!
Any day now, God.
Figurine bears in flannels,
copper pots rattle on their hooks,
crackling stems of wineglasses shatter—
Bless This Mess.

One froths onto concrete
squats down and defecates
her rage, demands
Take a picture
Violet leggings step gingerly past.
Don’t look, sweetheart
to children with earmuffs.

One sways slowly
to deaf rhythm.
Eyelids flutter, hands thrust out,
Julie Andrews in Sound of Music.
The Hills Are Lifeless,
flattened by Progress.
Nazis and Nuns
are one and the same.
A sack of souls wedged
in the sidewalk’s crack
trod by wedged soles:
One froths, one sways,
and one swims, and one prays.homeless-55492_1280
None are Nazis
but the Nuns haven’t
been around in a while.

Alex Simand is a writer of essays, stories, and poetry.  He is currently working on his MFA in Creative Writing at Antioch University.  He lives and works in San Francisco, CA.

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