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He Didn't Know I Wrote This

Inside the gas station’s
public restroom
was an interesting looking old coot
that caught me off guard.
 
He was wearing a heart-shaped eye patch,
slightly covered by greasy gray hair,
and wore blue-striped short shorts,
revealing his tough skinned knees.
 
He was wearing two fanny packs,
filled with paper and styrofoam,
and also wore a black gym bag
on his tired back.
 
He had a tattoo on his neck,
his forearm and both legs,
and danced without restraint
to loud rock music from his headphones.
 
He clenched a wet and
unlit cigarette in his mouth,
and was collecting soap
in a corrupted plastic bottle.
 
He had duct tape on his shoes
where his laces used to be,
and his wallet chain hung down
and accosted his socks.
 
His black t-shirt was damp
around the neck and armpits,
and it looked like all of his skin
was sun-burnt
(Smelled like it too).
 
His legs were shaven but
his arms weren’t,
and everytime he moved
his paper clip necklace danced.
 
He left the hot water running
on the faucet
as he twirled and twirled
without a care in the entire world.
 
I decided to search for another restroom
at that point.

(2015)

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