"Look at him, trying to be Wesley Snipes,"
my dad says, a hush, just for us
"WHOSE TRYING TO BE WESLEY SNIPES"
my son bull horns, across the line, lined asphalt
Wolf teeth white gleam atop the collar popped
black trench as the man swivels his gaze,
eyes us, just
a moment, judgement, measured intentions, apprec-
iations, shuns, disappointments then boots
CLOMP, cLOMP, clOMP, cloMP, clomP
auto-doors shush the held breath, within
the store, a split second, halved, quartered
touched, left on the plate, unwilling to taste.
Later, the drive-through at the Mickey D's,
but broke, my window's now held up
by a block of wood entombed behind
the door panel, so I have to stand outside
exhaust huffing white and purple clouds
against the cold, toes in fries mashed by tires
where they slipped the bag in the back and forth,
and among them i pick up thirty two cent,
three dimes and two pennies, change too small to stop
and pull over, for most, but accumulates
yes, accumulates---for those that do
& how many dead presidents
would it take for you?
Process Note: Dead Presidents is slang for US paper currency which displays the face of past presidents. Figure I better make sure that is clear before the suits show up at my door. smiles.