Portrait
Previously Published in Downtown Brooklyn, Number 14

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Portrait

 

He says, swears, says in swears that he knows the meaning of life, the universe and everything, the universe and life and he figured it out one day, day one in a Pontiac LeMans spitting slurping spitting down route nine

 

said I should get it, figure it out, get it on my own.

 

Right as always, right as black on top, blacktop sliding by and under under and by us on route nine, spitting LeMans, omnipotent boy leaned back smoking Camels, leaned back remembering sanity, sane life sifting through smoking, smoking through sifting through memory,

 

He swears.

 

 

He says, swears, says in swears that he doesn’t remember that day, that day, day one and now he’s crystal clear, clear as crystal as skies without clouds, skies with the answers he used to bring home with the paper and his brand new Volkswagon’s flowing sliding flowing down route nine

 

he says I get, I’ve gotten it, I got it on my own.

 

Today he’s white bread and yellow mustard, mustard with no spice, bread with no seeds, he plants the seeds of normalcy, hoes his garden of seeds and questions, questions and seeds, questioning why, how he now came through it all with his Camels smoking sifting smoking through time, he just doesn’t remember,

 

He swears.