New York grows
Slimmer
In his absence.
I suppose
You could also title this picture
Of Miles, his leathery
Squint, the grace
In his fingers a sliver of the stuff
You can’t get anymore,
As the rest of us wonder:
What was the name
Of the driver
Of that truck? And the rest
Of us sigh:
Death is one hell
Of a pickpocket.
