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The Man is Water

The man is water

filled

with heavy sand

he drips

onto the porch

next to me

carries a half-eaten bagel

between his teeth

braids his long

pumpernickel hair

with his hands

he finishes his bagel

he lights a cigarette

he calls his wife

he lets his cigarette

scar the silver railing

bits of ash scatter

confused

into my coffee

he coughs to the bushes

he says to his wife

I wish you were here

instead of on the phone

I would buy you ginger cookies

I would wash my hair

I would hide my cigarettes

I would admit

to plowing this daylight

with my teeth

my lips

can’t hold your name.