He sits in every dive in every town-
legs crossed at the ankles,
and a cigarette dangling
over a heaving T-shirt stain.
He smiles under a flimsy baseball hat
and hair that should have been cut months ago
as if plastic is money
and pleasure is pull tabs.
It's three o'clock in the afternoon,
and he should be home
mowing the lawn or
making macaroni necklaces with his little girl.
But his life is more like TV-
Everyone knows his name,
and he ignores the consequences
of his bad cash-machine-pull-tab math.
If you see him, do have a seat.
He'll tell you the saddest story he's heard
without realizing
it's his.
kmb 10/01
