AIR

An old man
but not so old as to
mesmerize himself
sitting with a bag of cans
on the block wall
of the combination
gas-station mini-mart
holding a cigarette
in a pinch tight as
his crossed legs
in a dirty blueblack
jumpsuit wearing a
dirty beard
white and rifled
like God's maybe
spewing from his face
so his eyes are
locked on and boring
because they are
accented and staring
at space,
like his space
that is occupied but
only as stationary scenery
because it really feels
like it doesn't count
and right next to him
on an equal plane
with his wild head
the box on the wall
says in big red letters:

A I R

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