He’s wrinkled in his suit.
Santa-like but mean-looking too, drunk
enough to get through a whole black
afternoon.
I see him on the stool
with sparkly dust on his
knees. Scowling and stinking.
His lap looks nice though, somehow
his lap looks nice
and I’d like to crawl
up and be that small
again.
Small as I was
when we first met.