Man likes looking at the planes.
He envies me my dog.
Shows me his artificial leg.
I tell him it looks beautiful.
He probably wanted sympathy.
I offered “how lucky you are
To have such a nice looking leg.”
Wrong song, wrong key.
Little park is pleasant and feels safe.
He’ll hang here ‘til dark.
Wonder if he has a room,
Or has he scoped-out this warm bench.
I sit with him.
My dishonesty offset by his forgiveness.
He can easier stomach a fraud
Than be without a friend.
Soon enough, I vote myself holy
And lead my dog back to our house.
Charley sniffs the grass, pees once.
The man returns his attention to the planes.
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