He showed me the raised line under his shirt
where doctors cut to sort out his bent spine
It was a nasty scar, I’ll give him that
He wrested twenty dollars from my hand
To pay for barbecue and, for dessert,
a milkshake, maybe strawberry. He ate
Til buttons on his clothes began to pop
Aggressive, blond, face red with barbecue
and high blood pressure both. I almost missed
the bus. I had to run with the receipt
still crushed in my right hand. Twenty goddamn
big ones I won’t see again. But so what?
I don’t believe I needed it as much
As that unwashed doofus with such bright scars