King Henry The Weird

King Henry the weird

Lives at the top of the street

Tops the scales at one-hundred over what it should be

Leans out the third floor window

No shirt

Beads of sweat

Catch the dust

Black ski trails

Across his chest

A little jump

Over left nipple

Rotted Teeth

Space for

Projectile spitting

Through ponds of drool.

I always try

Passing

Quietly

A sneak by either disgusted

Or afraid.

But Henry Parsons

Always knows about

The passing of the boy.

And always says

“Well ain’t YOU (spit)

the pretty ASS (spit)

boy now (spit)”

Every time I look away

Suspecting that I am

Somehow

Unclean.