He was a hearty old drunk, with dart holes in
his nose—
Humorous at times, I had seen him a dozen
times before, throughout the city!
A man with a strut cane, to balance his walk—
A watch and chain that hung inside his
waistcoat!
A silver tooth, and a dandelion in his
buttonhole suit.
His thumb and fingers all had cracked nails.
He smoked Pall Mall cigarettes.
Always shook his coat to find where the
matches were.
He had more bad habits, than Briar Rabbet!
Scratching his bald head, as if a thought had
come to him—
The old hearty drunk, stopped in the middle
of a crosswalk, smiled at me ‘I bet he would’
I was in my Catholic. It was a pale bleak
moment.
I stopped on the green, he found his matches,
to light his cigarette, and a car went around me, cut off his thumb as he lit…
Then turned his head in a mincing-manner, towards
me, as if intended to ask ‘What just happened,’ as his thumb hung on a thread
of flesh.
No: 4742 (3-29-2015)
