There’s a guy leaning up against the streetlamp
smoking a blue cigarette and sporting a brown fedora
looking directly at me as if he knew me from somewhere
some annoyed questions projecting ripples from his aging brow
and I could sense his wavering agitation
like he knew me but his memory was failing him

There’s this panic attack I’m having- I say to him
and he just stares at me skeptically smoking that blue square
do you work for Fat Jimmy? he asks in a lazy drawl

Who the hell is Fat Jimmy- I think
watching his fedora unfold into a small spotted hawk
and the street peel away like a candy wrapper
revealing my fizzling brain underneath the whole block
neighborhood town state country earth universe
infinitely asleep
graciously awake