Sunday, July 3, 2016

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. 


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