Ayazmid

Ghosts. Colorful souls seen in the blink of an eye of a drunken stumbling home -

Names come to him even as they came n and out of visions – a red one -

A forgotten love who left too soon – the smell of beer soaking his skin,

Shambling past he remembered the scent of her hair,

Her breasts pressed against his back in a sticky pool of sweat -

A large, blue one – dangling in the sparce, fluorescent hell of a parking garage -

An old friend? That same, familiar feeling of putting on a pair

Of comfortable old shoes – Ayazmid – that seething old man

Who took the time to play chess with him in that urine-soaked apartment

His mother in the throats of her latest john -

For a few moments they both could forget their surroundings -

The yellow one – Like a dandelion

The dog that was his friend on the streets – his own table with the shell game

Until police broke it up – he named him Rafiki -

Half blind with a limp he scrounged and hustled

To feed Rafiki before himself – at last

Before night’s cloak fell upon him in the nauseating fresh air

After 17 drinks – it stood there -

Challenging him – a menacing glimmer of light

Where its eyes should be a surge of drunken strength

As he flew at it – through it -

Into the middle of the street -

And consequently slammed by a passing car -

Leaking blood – torn and twisted limbs

Like a bloody snow angel

The green one haunches over him

Those beady eyes watching the light leave his.