The wheels on either side his chair
blaze morning light. Rusted cars
and trucks rattle along the street.
Mustard yellow buses slow and
stop to let children in. From the patchy
sidewalks women and infants wave.
Evenly he examines all of this, indifferent,
wide awake. It is the spotless way in which he
lifts and sets his cigarette against his mouth
that suggests a lifetime of practice.
A wild, white wreath, a silk dragon
streams around his slick cranium -
smoke in the mouth, in the eyes.