I hold my breath as he crosses the street...he owns the traffic with his wide stride...each step course and jagged...the crosswalk bows before him...the curb offers its hat and cloak...a rocker mohawk crowns him...his swaddling leather riffs as he walks...chains drum a beat that announces him as he goes...he turns and his tattoos scream...he disappears...I exhale...
The circle beckons...
I sit...
I chat...
I hold my breath as he crosses the room...yielding to it...each step purposeful...an empty chair curtsies before him...he gallantly sits...he runs his hand through his crown mohawk...his leather quiets as he settles in...his chains lay obediently on his lap...he turns and his tattoos weep...my name is Diego he says lisping slightly his voice a quiet hum...he softens...I lighten...
No comments:
Post a Comment