Homeless in Albuquerque




man I don't know
grabs me by the arm
tells me long time no see
and would I buy him
some wine?



back of the bus
the woman
who won't look at me
talking to faeries
between stops



man with no coat
arms in the air
holding up the sky



streaked windshield
minus a dollar
and a dirty conscience



the man
in front of the seven-eleven
whose car
keeps running
out of gas



native woman
feathers in the corners
of her eyes
wrapped
in a worn-out blanket



the guy on the corner
with crazy eyes
asks me for spare change
then leaves
before I can answer



how did we end up
on this street,
Coyote?



vending machine
young woman with a child
looking for a job
buys all the papers
for fifty cents



man with sad eyes
I buy his smile
for a dollar



I write them down
in a ragged notebook
without names
so you can forget
who they are