ROUGH MAN
Rough man hides his shoulders
behind the ferry boat landing;
the dock's rotted wood rips into
his back. But he is strong like
steel and is not bothered. His
shirt has bullet holes for buttons,
not button holes for muffins.
Notice, I said 'rough man'
not rouge.
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Outside the shack he lives in,
others will congregate to stare.
Breeding stale smoke, like
cigarette antlers their foul
heads all look up. They only
wonder at what they see.
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