Pink lips fleshy in the strength 
of a noon day sun, bright against
a man with white hair, the lips moving 

endlessly near the crosswalk. 
I couldn’t hear what he 
was saying. I don’t think he could

either, and somehow that didn’t 
matter. When the light turned green 
he stayed leaning against the thick 

white bar, forever like a skipping CD 
that would continue to skip 
for as long as I had patience to listen. 

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