Myth
The blind hobo who returned
or it seemed that he had followed me before
had carious teeth and his lips were like those of stillbirths in Fallujah
Cyclops aren’t a fable some nascent human genome could have pulled
and other monstrosities off
into viability
in our version
of depleted uranium no baby
makes it out of nativity alive
The blind hobo wore laceless tennis shoes sockless style
didn’t smell his dishevelment
wasn’t threatening his hearing
kept on my tracks
as he mouthed off menacing things
but that’s only hearsay
I drubbed the ground as fast as I could
with hands and feet
as if I were Hagar ‘s tremors for holy water
And I when I lost him
I lost the way home
