By Fabrice B. Poussin
Walking on the grassy sidewalk
Burnt by searing days
Forgotten of the city gardeners
Lost hands dangle without aim.
They seem as aging ducks
Lost in a valley of broken glass
Rusty rails and dimming silence
Followed by thin trails of smoke.
Ageless within the fatty cells
Painted pores fall away
Hearts dissolve surrounded
By ancient Asian glyphs.
Once more they clear raspy throats
Inundated with phlegm in unison
Filling their lungs with tarry molasses
Washing them down with a stale brew.
Desperate strangers seeking shelter
Massive memories of darker days
They never look back
Falling into tunnels of thick Hades.
The leathery shells now senseless
Tattoos melt with another cigarette
Their insides devoured by liquor
They might be haunting corpses.
Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and many other magazines. His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review, the San Pedro River Review, and other publications.