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.