Lit

In the photo that you slipped
to the newspaper guy on the corner …
all those broken springs and shattered hands
and arcs of broken rims
- I couldn’t help but see him, even though there
was no body, and nobody.
Every small man part of him reflected
in cracked and broken time
caught in a thousand different frozen moments
all those broken faces-
I didnt need to see him
to know that he was a bomb, ticking.