by Felix Fojas


Crystal-clear drops

Of bygone days

Pitter-patter upon

His memory’s

Tar-pianted roof.


He lies upon

The banig mat spread

On the cardboard

Floor with his tattooed

Interlocked fingers


As his only

Pillow inside

The bare shantyn dragging 

He has been living

In for the last


Seven dragging years

Of sheer boredom

And unemployment

After his woman

Deserted him


For another man.

Like a circus act,

A solitary fly

Buzzes and wings

Through the smoke ring


He blow in the damp air.

Amused, a faint

Smile etches itself

On his weary

Crepe-paper face


As the wind howls

Like a rabid dog

And the sky drops

Buckets of rain

Upon his house of pain.


Los Angeles

April 27, 2012