Every day the drunk lies at the cross-road
Between the Wal-Mart and the Costco
On the side of the Arizona road
The sun is a cupped red-hot centre of an egg
Heat seals dust on his sweaty skin
Stray dogs lick his wounds
Their tongues encrusted with decay
A cherry coke rests on one side
And a glass bottle of Jim Beam on the other
If he drinks from both it will be a good day
His glass eye lies in the cavernous socket
Dotted with clots of red, a secure plum in its cave
Stares without judgement or acknowledgement
But if you look close enough it’s a marble
With a magnified world inside the jagged streak
Gifts lie scattered at his feet,
Silvery gum wrappers and pissed-on ads
The occasional pamphlet from religious nut-jobs
The end of the world might be near
But the drunk knows better: it’s already here
If the whiskey points to the right you go to Costco
Lots of samples today in white little cups
If to the left then head to the Walmart
Because they’re giving away pigs in a blanket
And if he’s not there at all maybe he’s home
Aleksandra Pandyra was born in Poland and has lived in Italy and Canada for a large portion of her life. She received her PhD from the University of Toronto and currently lives in Germany, working at the University of Düsseldorf.
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