Portrait #4

He looked like his face

had been smashed with a shovel,

flat, his mouth always open, eyes

like they could fall out of his skull

at any moment.

He wasn't that bright either, which

made him a complete package. He

could be useful, holding your place 

in line, or, as a doorstop. He wouldn't

have even made good cannon fodder.

That must be why he survived his youth.

But even he was human, somehow,

even he had a heart. He would feed 

birds, for one thing. They seemed to

appreciate this.

He died one day, sitting on the sidewalk,

leaning against a wall. Nobody noticed

for a couple of days. A few people 

remarked he was looking rather well,

at peace. 

That part of life, at least, for him, 

was easy.