An old drunk
Walks up to
A new drunk

You know what?
The old drunk asks.

What?
The new drunk replies
From the side
Of his mouth
Not paying much attention.

Rimbaud,
The old drunk says.

The new drunk
Stands, cracks his knuckles,
And shoves
The old drunk
Back a few steps.

The new drunk kicks his shins and
Calls him names
He's always been called.
They still sting.
There's a spit
In every eye followed up
By a curse
That will last far past
Either of their lifetimes.

The old drunk,
Bloodied by words
And stupid starlight,
Manages to say,

Thank you, son.
I needed that
To remember.