Exfoliation
Maureen Tolman Flannery
OK, so let’s think about this one.
In this kind of city
there are thousands of us bums
with nowhere to go--and who knows
how many more housed low-lifes
barely hangin in there, hangin out.
Now, each of us is sloughing off skin
like a bull snake, especially this winter
in these bitch-cold winds. You with me?
Think about it. Flaky parts of old guys
deposited near park benches;
every seven years whole hobos
floating out around train tacks.
Could be worse on the environment
than your slick-ass Volvos putting out exhaust
or tires leaving rubber along the road.
Making you sick, eh, thinking of all our DNA
cork-screwing through the air like seeds
floating around looking for earth to sprout in.
You must be breathing us in every day
through your little asthma inhalers.
Hey; it’s not so bad. Look at it this way.
When old age winks back at you from that
gold framed looking glass,
where you think you sorry rich ass
is looking all fine in your Calvin Kleins
and things that set you up there above
the rest of us slobs
start coming undone,
those Vassar children don’t call back--
your Volvo develops an unexplained rattle--
the top grain cowhide bottom
drops out of your stock portfolio--
you start forgetting things
and clients won’t return your calls
and its all a little shaky, aint it, bro.
That’s when it might just be a comfort to know
about what I’ve just told you--
how you’ve prepared for this letting go
with your daily dose of the flaked off skin
of the homeless.
