A girl dressed inappropriately
for a jog
about the boardwalk
past the black disco rollerskate hepcat.
High-waisted short shorts
And “Run Forest, run!”‘ (self-satisfied
fat man)
And “What?”
Walking backward now
toward two unkempt, sad-eyed hecklers.
“Ey, don't walk with your booty out!”
“Yea, not around here!”
And “I'm waitin' for ma aunt.”

Me and Roscoe just observers
in all this, and I say,
“There's our anti-hero.”
And him, “You only think in literary terms.”
And me, “English class ruined me.”

Now we're silent
and collecting conversation fragments:
“None of this would have ever happened
had we euthanized all the homeless!”
“I've just got to get new tires
on Monday.”
“What's today? July?”

Him, telling me all about
getting in people's heads
and knowing everybody.
Drunk, looking for Mariella
(the love he mumbled to and about).
Drunk, dressing up like a pirate
and throwing rocks at an Italian home.
Drunk, hooking up with that sensitive
Element;
Hung-over, regretting it.
Drunk, leaving a message for another
Element

about how his friend wants to kiss her;
Hung-over, regretting it.

And we stroll
Turn
Stroll
Stop
At a bench
To rest.