His face reads like a Bukowski poem
written after a weekend bender
with not nearly enough Bromo.
I’m not saying he doesn’t have
a certain puppylike appeal.
It’s just those worried wrinkles
already grooved into the middle
of his two-week old forehead
have me convinced that his future
will consist of way too many
well-placed and perfectly timed
Vayavya - Summer 2013