Five Poems

Walser at the Café

The homeless man looks more alive today. He wears his hair in a ponytail beneath a sailor’s hat. He is vibrant but too thin to be a sailor. I have never really taken advantage of my looks.

I myself am tired of the same routine of tree and sky and lake. Tired of the same imprisoned faces. Finally, the small man leaves. Finally, he goes home to his minuscule children. He looks like a dumber Ron Howard, if that’s possible. I’ve noticed that many people here have disproportionately large heads.
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