The dwarf sitting curbside
With his sleeves rolled up.
Pooped. Fatigué. Afflicted with a thirst
the open hydrants cannot quench.The president addressing him
In no uncertain terms.
Dad blast it. By gum.
Enough of your guff.Like a prancing horse the dwarf
jumps up and makes,
singing a silly-sounding “Dixie”
from deep within his barrel chest.From his window Federico monitors
These events and tries to add the missing
Sound with notes plucked from the strings of his guitar
To soften the unfriendly night.A throb in a tooth not even there. Intimacy with
A mattress on which he has slept alone for years.
The dusty reality of a teddy bear from a forever love.
Manuscripts born without legs.“Treat him with respect,
Respect,”
He shouts,
When the music clearly fails.The dwarf now hanging from high on a lamppost.
The president in the bent posture his age has imposed.
The two of them knowing
To look up, up.
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