Soft Bitched Brain

Fats is outside Because he sweat through his suit.

Has propped the door open with his left shoe And stands in the alley hoping to catch what little of the breeze there is.

He spits once Onto the asphalt And stuffs his hands in his jacket pockets

As a young boy comes out the side Door from Durfey’s talking loudly back at someone just out of sight. It startles him And the alley with yellow light And sound. The boy lights a cigarette And Fats worries the rough asphalt with his socked foot.

The air is warm and wet and He closes his eyes from it. He leans his back against the bricks. He smells the laundry smell That drifts out from the door the boy keeps open as he chats and smokes. His shoulders ease down as he exhales.

Fats Waits for someone to call him back inside.