When I was young, I used to watch across the wall As men walked up and down the street Wino men old men Young men sharp as cheddar. See them Men are always going somewhere. They knew I was there eighteen and nineteen years old and thirsty for them. Under my pupil, they would pause. Their shoulders high like thr height of a mountain top, Blazer tails slapping over Those behinds, Men.

One day they hold you in the snug of your arms gentle as if you were the last crisp dollar in the world. Then they tighten up just a little The first squeeze is nice A quick hug Soft hug soft into your defenselessness. A little more, the hurt begins, Wrench out a smile that slides around a fear. When the air dissapears Your mind pops explodibg fiercely Like the sound of a gun shot. Shattered it is your juice that runs down their legs. Staining their shoes when the earth rights itself again, And taste tries to return to the tongue Your body has slammed shut Forever no keys exist.

Then my pupils draws upon their style. There just beyond the sway of curtains, men walk. Knowing something going someplace But this time I will simply stand and watch.