comes in off the street and tells
the Chinese shopgirl that he wants
a piece of string
do you got a piece of string
so I can choke you with it
laughs at the cops who can't bust him again
without kicking him, cuffing his head
calls them his crown of thorns
tells the three-piece suits who beat
the lunch-hour sidewalks that he needs
a dollar, ain't eat naught in days
stumbles into happy hour traffic
bends his face down and begs a ride
tells his name in the dark like a belch
says to the man who drives the white
car that he would like to talk
a private talk
runs him all over town, gets lost, says
My car broke down, and asks for a jump
won't say where he wants to go
just goes deeper out into the dark
wants his private talk
says Stop here, says Cut your lights
puts his hand out, pats the man's
nervous white hand, says: Listen,
how it is—
—from Street