69-year-old dirty old man
sees life through an empty bottle
sitting cross-legged on the sidewalk
dreaming of a lost past, a lost youth,
waiting for Death with his hand on his limp cock,
watching the passersby with a look of disdain,
hatred at their comfort, at the ease they
fill their wallets with potential whisky bottles
which could be drunk through his salivating mouth.
26-year-old sensual woman
takes pity on the old man
who reminds her of her dead father,
offers him a quarter
which he grabs greedily
and he ambles away looking for another coin
to fill his pocket with a momentary warmth
soon to be exchanged for another bottle
to numb his senses from the past he let slip away,
quietly, gently, inevitably.
1982