Mental Sensibility Comments

I live to stare at the world through heavy eyes of brown and gold and copper, to see babies cling from their mothers’ breasts, whose bald stalky husbands come and go from the beer store, where a pennyless group of boys tune and sit, high and dazed in music they exhale, where wandering persons tread by dusk and dawn again.

To see men on stretchers in blue gowns, pleading in tongue to be released, nurses go by laughing on their way to the front desk, where a woman sits with her fourteen year old daughter, who shakes and shivers and vomits on the floors, where the thirty two year old janitor comes with his bucket and his mop and his endless suds, cleaning throw-up nightly to pay bills for medication, for a son whose stomach twists and knots and bends, leaving nothing but false hope he’ll make it to see ten.
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