sit long enough in the dark
of the theater, and the credits will
roll down far enough to name
man on corner
who was only on camera for a
moment, or perhaps a line,
moving the tale from here to there
there was one in my story today
he stood in the dark on ninth street
waiting for the light to change;
I drove past and we waved
OK – it was the guy head bob thing
and I came home to find
my wife and stereo schnauzers
and promises to keep
and he walked out of my story
and on into the night,
and the darkness that tells his
story, of which one credit reads
man in jeep.
Peace,
Milton
cool.