Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Nursing on a Park Bench

He squawks for his next drink
like a hunched-over, half-drunk
curmudgeon of a wobbly wino
with a lifetime of sorrows to drown.

She attends like a bawdy barmaid -
busty, casual about modesty –
and serves with an affectionate
familiarity that turns faces red.

I wag my head, smile at passersby,
reach into the bag, unfold the little blue
rocket-ship swaddle, pause, watch
their stare, refold the blanket.



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