Chinaski
the streetlight glared at the dirty sidewalk
dried-out puke on the curb
air conditioners s p i t
from fourth floor window ledges
down ancient chipped
graffiti-covered brick
caked with grime
smell of piss
round the corner in the alley
mixed with scents of stale smoke
flat beer
& sour grease-coated garbage cans
nestled in the glass of broken liquor bottles
& cigarette butts
crushed cardboard boxes
f i r s t
I saw the tip of his lit snipe
he was sitting on an old ratty
corn-colored couch cushion
propped up against the side of a dumpster
& as soon as he saw me
notice him
he farted
& I laughed
“hey, hank . . .
where the fuck you been, man?”