Something or someone
had taken a large portion
of his ear.

The top of it
was just plain
gone.

Had it been chewed,
swallowed?

Had it been thrown out
with the kitchen trash?

Dogs ripping plastic
during the small hours
to get to this sweet, salty morsel
of human flesh?

Had he screamed?
Had it once been sewn
back on?
Bandages soaked red?
The stitches failed?
The wound gone necrotic?

I stared at it.
I was obvious.
It couldn’t be helped.

We shook hands.
He left.

But, that missing
part of his right ear
will stay with me
for awhile.

It’s likely that I’ll find
that ear’s ghost
listening to this poem
from somewhere
within the creases
of my
jacket pocket.

*

-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications 2019