A man without an ear
Was photographing my face

His left ear was bandaged
With ivory white gauze
And no trickles of blood

His flash would go off
Replicating my self
My features
My ears

He was an elder man
With greying hairs
And an aged-wisdom look

Dressed in slacks of burnt sienna
And a light weight top
Photographing me
...As if I was unaware of the events

...The past

At 235 he got Brazilian
At 130 a break from the day
He got kisses and luxury cigar smoking ladies

At 235 he was half-a-man
At 130 a traffic light shadow

A Van Gough look-a-like
Amusing himself to death
Around central neon
And upward steps

Laughter paid
The illegals scattered
The reggae made old stiff
And young, younger

At 235 he was sorry
At 130 better



© 1998 David Greg Harth
98.08.09.00:00:00@FrontSt/WhiteSands Bermuda