The Delivery

On hobo corner I coughed the powdered air, the radio news said “its a purple day”. I could taste the sky. inhale deep, exhale deeper Spitting out the van window the light green wad smacked the hot black asphalt with a sizzle. I know I’m sick. The homeless man on the corner spits to, its larger, greener, nastier. He shoves a smelly hand at my face, says nothing, just expects. He looks too much like me not to give him money. The crumpled paper greener then both our spit goes from hand to hand. I hate him as he turns away with his new money, a face that looks like mine, and hands that smell of dumpsters. Finally a green light, everyone so wanting here, like an accusation, or a family waiting, inhale deep exhale deeper