by Jnana Hodson

A woman with a mustache
crossed herself three times
outside St. Mary’s
and mumbled while wobbling away
in rubber duck boots.

Against her shabby brown coat
and scabby dry skin, she pressed
a Bible and presumes herself saintly.


A man in the corner grocery
weighed produce for forty years
while speaking Italian to his women customers.


An old black stumbled down the middle of Halle Street
as cars swerved around him or honk.
“Say, brother, my church is having a –“

“Sorry, no change.”

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Copyright 2015