I see Flacco everyday.
In rags
Bare-footed
Disheveled
Everyday
Stammering along Myrtle Avenue
On the B54 bus
Sitting at that route's Adelphi stop.
Not lost
Not found
Not invisible
I call out his name
On the bus.
His name might be Luis
Benito
Jose
I call him Flacco
He calls me Gringo
Sometimes he remembers
Most times not
He doesn't care if he's forgotten unseen pitied ignored or u greeted
Flacco is beyond that
He doesn't carry a phone or a fucking coffee cup or anything.
His carbon impact is zero
His clothes are rags
His feet are bare
I give him $2
Para un Bud
Grande
I have never seen him drink
Smoke yes.
He is the king of decomsumption
Flacco understands nothing
He moves so slow
I hand him the $2
His smile is toothless
His heart I see
The coffee cup claspers have none
To them they only look at their phones.
Flacco sees the world
What
I don't know
But over the last year i have often lost my mind
I know crazy
I know nothing
I know the beauty of nothing
As does Flacco
Happy in the other world
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