from the hip

so this guy, right. this guy's got m.s. - i'm gonna just shoot from the hip here today - i mean i'm watchin' this guy full of m.s. all hunched over in some stainless steel four wheeled walker
he looks as though he's been forgotten by a person or two in his time - he's sippin' on a cold black coffee from a steel plated mug - you'd think he was on the verge you know?

i look at him a bit closer but i can't see his face - i imagine that he just wants to lie down or lay down you know - lay down or lie down on some grassy earthbed somewhere beside some
starchy sitting room - clean white sheets and all maybe turn on some five channel antenna tube in some five star hospital room and wait for his skin to turn rusty red with bed sores

how cathartic, i think to myself, how tragic it is that i'm sitting here stretching out some twisted ankle or cracking some dysfunctional jaw and here's this guy, all bent over hunched over like a drunk in that same back alley that i keep referring to - how long you been drunk like that? i wanna ask him - how long you been outta your head?

his eyes sweep the floor some before feeling their way up my legs - they stop for a second to wipe some piece of guilt or sorrow or sympathy off of my chin or my mouth - how rude of me i think to myself shrinking with embarrassment - i should have wiped it myself

to my surprise, if you would believe it, this guy ain't cryin' at all - this guy is smiling, fucking smiling. really. it's a huge wide white picket smile too, a pearly gate of sorts very welcoming - strong teeth too, healthy arch - the gates open - air and muscle co-ordinate that old two step as this guy exhales a gratifying collection of words...

nice day, he says brimming with joy, nice day to be alive.