We gather up, get up, get over
near the doors, don't shove, mind
the still shuffling and no peeking
around all of us contained
gathered with but not on purpose
I smell marshmallows, here!
fluffing the stench of worn public use
sniffing around its source
a bloated child-man accessorized
what an unlikely source of pleasure
A poor man's face burned clean off
he owns a cheek from chin to hairline
and a blank eye to keep it company
tapping with his stick
his ears are pristine
a stolen view of a breast
nestled there in a crescent of black
like a babe in swaddlin'
soft and pink and crying for attention
without a sound
but the doors open and we move
in a snapshot our variety is one
for the moment
we are dispersed
and we go out