On the Street

I remember you
on the street
by the flower lady
buyin’ a tulip
for your woman.
Your skin was white as the snow.

Coulda helped me out
with fifty cents
off the streets
out of the bus stop
with my screamin’
away from your eyes.

You’s hopin’ for a cop
come on by
bust me up
shut that dark stink away
that sweet drunken whiff
in your pretty white nose
the rotten sniff
inside your head.

Lost your chance
friend.
Was it the checkered rags?
The chipped tooth?
The tired lip that gothcha?
Fifty cents
my man.
Two round coins
palmed into my hand
easy as sidewalk spit
cheap as puppies’ piss.

Peace, my man.
You alright.
The snow be fallin’ next winter.
And maybe we be here together.


—Eric Nelson