Christina Pitrelli

A Word with G on the Street

Shaking and clanking his can of coins,
his giant bobbing eyes look up and
stare right into mine,
like sharp, smooth glass on a prism's edge.

"Today's the last day," he says.

(The sky around him's hazy-blue
not neon-red like in my dreams!
One-quarter of the Horsemen,
in ragged khaki green?)

I listen and I stare and breathe.
"Last day for what?" I say.
(Last day for bleary walking amidst concrete commerce crap?)

"For the heat wave! It's gonna be cooler tomorrow!
Yup, that's what they sayin'!"

"Oh, that's good . . ."

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