world in a pram

one of the things
i don’t remember
is having been
pushed in a pram
by my mother
or father

was i ever
talked to
with such
adult-to-child
engagement
while someone
pointed out
the scenery
as it passed by

did i fall
fast asleep
from the length
of the day
the rattle of the wheels
rumbling beneath me
like a passenger
on the train
from paris to brest

i wonder
if someone
would push me in one
now?

faceless

i tried to talk to him today
at the spot
where i see him
on so many days
where he lies on the sidewalk
i asked if he was ok
he didn’t want to answer
instead he said he liked my shirt
from avalon tattoo shop

thanks i said

are you a tattoo man?

i have a few
are you taking care of yourself?
again no answer
just a gaze down the street
in the opposite direction
and i’m thinking how stupid
my question is
he is lying on his side
in obvious discomfort
and filth

i reach in my pocket
and hand him some change

thank you he says
with soft youthful eyes
that deceive his aging face
and his long dirty beard