9/21/12 - The Witness

   There's a homeless man sleeping under the bus stop. I think he's having a bad dream. The man sitting opposite me has smoked three cigarettes so far. A firetruck has pulled up. They ask if I called about the man. I say no. They seem to be confused. They try to talk to the man. He seems to be sick. He says he hasn't eaten. They ask if I saw him fall. I say no. The EMT pulls up. They lift the man so he is sitting up. He can't hold up his head or speak clearly. They're moving the firetruck out of the way now. I notice that the other man has stopped smoking. They pricked his finger, testing his blood for something, iron? He can't move, he's limp, like he's dead.They gave him smelling salts, it didn't work. They plug his nose. He wakes up and tries to move the mans hand. Barely. He passes out again. They wheel the man away and my bus comes. 

"What did you see?" Nothing.

"How long have you been here?" About twenty minutes.
The man in front of me can't pay with his ticket. He get's off. I leave.
It's raining.

City Life

When I was younger, I imagined that romance always took place within painted landscapes. Enveloped among the spice of wild flowers, in the mist of a morning dew. Barefoot in the sand, on the skirt of a moonlit ocean. Or perhaps even high in the arms of a tree, sprinkled with flicks of sunlight.
There was always a boy and there way always a girl.
There was always a shy and yet feverous passion between them.
I always imagined that this is where one could discover the romance he/she desired.

Yet here I find myself, in downtown Columbus Ohio, far from the romance I once sought.
Between the corner of Washington and Broad; where I once witnessed two people in the throws of passion, make love on the side of the old Methodist church- and the shadows that linger just beyond the bridge that crosses over the freeway.

In a small studio apartment, on the second floor of a crumbling foundation.
Towering to the ceiling with rescued books and guarded by the spirits of the dead rats and birds I keep safe and preserved in my freezer. The floors scattered in juvenile poetry, the walls held together by the memories of past love.
Apart from my sole companion, a small white alien whom I happened upon by mistake, tormenting me day and night, I am alone.

And in the mocking solitude and desolate isolation of the city,
I believe I have stumbled upon romance.