Baby Blue

the courtesans on the corner called him baby blue, though he cavorted around with a candid ecstasy seldom seen under the streetlights or above the sewers of town though he bought rounds for all the bastards at the bar at 2 a.m. and bellowed drinking ballads to no one in particular though he had a colossal crocodile smile wider than the sea, the sky, or any of the tiny bits in between the courtesans on the corner called him baby blue, because on the navy nights when he would lay with them, which was now and again, it was always with silent tears and they flowed like the deepest sorrow untold.