Claude scraped himself from the pavement
Tried to focus on his wobbling reflection
in the front window of the dry cleaners,
His visage slobbered upon, slurped and chomped
then squirted from cheek to cheek
like a plug of tobacco, eventually spit.
He attempted a smile but that only made it worse.
Claude shuffled off, slid down the steep embankment
to crawl beneath the bridge. Shoes caked, knuckles wet,
He reached up and tenderly fingered the underbelly
Felt it vibrate as the cars thundered overhead.
Stumbled on. Bent down to whisper into the open ear
of a plastic Coke bottle half buried in the dirt.
Staggered back. Unknotted the blinds cord
holding up his trousers
and squatted, felt the tickle of dry weeds
on his chewed-up ass. Claude dreamed
of a tissue paper seat protector
laid upon a plastic toiled seat, dreamed of sitting
warm and dry above the cold porcelain.
Claude sighed and squeezed his biographyinto the dirt. It was a good dream.