Charles (on the corner)

A prophet
preaches to the scratched
hood of my car.
Hidden beneath baseball cap, dark wool
suit too big for slight bones,
He bows beneath
the weight of a necklace,
trinkets only he understands.
The heat a cloak over
dry and marbled outstretched hands; yet
He does not sweat.

He speaks—
prophecies, poems,
ancient secrets absolved
into Baltimore humidity
any recompense. Without
any baptized soul

(revised poem, previously posted)

One thought on “Charles (on the corner)

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