and with dirty-grey strands of hair tossed like spaghetti…chest scars exposed…lines drawn on a weathered face…he slept…
just slept with an old Mexican blanket covering frail legs…swollen ankles….bare feet…un-trimmed toe nails…no sounds…could’ve taken ’em for dead…he slept…
a V-neck tee-shirt unwashed…worn for days and days and days…smells of fried bologna…stains of mustard…grease spots…comfortable in his sty…he slept…
never moved a muscle in that LazyBoy…well broken-in…stretched-out…just closed eyes…dreaming of being on submarines and old oil rigs in his youth…he slept…
he slept…in peace…he slept…
goodnight pop…
