Small Boy, Large Mouth

“I’m hungry,” he said,

Pulling down the filthy corners of his face like broken shutters.

His eyes shine like dead marbles,

“Can you spare a buck?”

I thought of pop songs and stupid band names–

Nearly missing the words.

“Sorry kid. Don’t got a buck for ya’.”

But he followed behind me, making sure to smear that ugly frown so it was covering every inch of skin.

“But sir–”

I turned the corner;

Not because I had to,

But because I know how this stuff works.

You hand ’em a buck,

They walk off.

Next day, they’re sprawled over the concrete missin’ half their teeth and rollin’ around in broken glass.

The worst of ’em I’ve seen,

Still have needles pokin’ out their skin.

I go down the alley, wait until I make the gap…

Make another turn.

Nice and quiet, I think. Peace is free.

No kids askin’ me for bucks.

Whole street is cleared out,

But there’s smoke floatin’ through like some mad rave is piled up at the end.

Still pop songs. Band names.

One of ’em was called “Gor-Gor-Gorilla,” which is probably the worst.

Even one of those “one-word” names would be better.

Dust. Moonshine. Bliss.

Even one of those person-sounding names.

Kenny Swift. Roger Sutters. Something like that.

But this town ain’t nothin’ but sparkles, gorillas, and repetition.

I on the other hand, don’t mind a cup o’ wine

And some fine tunes.

Smoke gettin’ thicker.

Billowing and billowing from the dark.

I imagine there’s some kind of sax magician,

Or maybe a whole jazz coven–

Smoothin’ it out like abracadabra and hocus pocus.

Glitter and pixie dust.

Perhaps it’s a chill night,

Which brings doubt,

But in that case the ol’ bass man with his bass-playin’ hands would be workin’ his incantations.

I can almost hear it:

Driftin’ out that thick haze–

Music to my ears

Which do not hear the clickity-clack of little boy shoes on the concrete.

But this time I hear his words.

“Mister–”

“Whaddya want, kid? A buck?”

“Not exactly, sir.”

I turn back to see his weed of a shadow–

Growin’ through the dim light.

“Well what is it?”

“I’m hungry, sir.”

I see a glint of light again,

But it ain’t his marble eyes–

Like a dead child’s teddy.

No, it’s a different kind of glint.

“And what do you expect me to do about it?”

The bass outside is gettin’ louder,

And maybe the sax magician’s there too.

I have to suppress my excitement for this idiot.

“Well sir, seein’ as you’re the only one out here…” he steps closer.

Shadows darken.

“I suppose there’s just one thing.”

The chalk-white of his teeth poke out:

Smooth like marble.

Yellow like gold.

It’s not a happy kind of darkness behind those teeth…

Getting wider

And wider…

“Oh yeah, well what is it?”

I almost can’t hear over the music.

See through the mist.

The growing darkness–

“It’s really simple,” he laughs.

I feel my half-smile fading.

Seems like his voice is everywhere.

“You just have to stand right. there.”

I don’t like the sound of that,

Or the humidity steaming at my skin,

But then he–