Sizing Up the Vagabond
I walk slowly into oncoming traffic
as a coping mechanism, the fake name
I used once. I say we conceive, call
him Brickel. You, animal. With your
tweed and your Uzi, your arm like
a cane-pull that beds me. Delicious.
The upstairs lamp’s been on for days.
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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 29 | Summer 2010