What Those People Did to that Poor Old Man

After his wife passed on, old Giles
was all alone, and it seemed he liked it that way.
After a week of quiet, solitary reflection, he was seen
walking alone down by the river
whistling at birds and smiling to himself.

The girls in town said he made them
twitchy, even before his wife passed on
said he was the one who sent specters to their rooms
to watch them undress and bathe, and pinch them
hard and improper, said it got worse after his wife died.
One of them claimed they saw him hiding one night
just outside the house, eyes glowing in the moonlight
evil intent all over his face.

No matter what they did to him
they couldn’t get Giles to confess either way
couldn’t get him to point his finger at another party
couldn’t get him to pass the blame. In the end, he just stopped talking.
He stayed silent even when they piled
the rocks, one after another
on his pale, emaciated chest
only letting out a tiny squeaky wheeze
just before the bones gave way.

Death of a Homeless Vet

I used to see him and his buddies
feeding ducks by the river, giving half
of what looked like his own lunch
to the little yellow-and-gray chicks that flocked
an arm’s length away. He and his friends

never said a word to one another while they sat
smoking crumpled cigarettes and
tossing handfuls of sandwich pieces and cheese crackers
out onto the water
but they looked as happy as
a bunch of grizzled old soldiers could.

The police pulled his body out of the river
after the rains finally stopped, untangled
his twisted arms and legs from the chokehold
of felled branches and storm sewer debris
partly wrapped in his green wool army-issue blanket
still wearing his backpack full of
extra clothes and old photographs
cheese crackers and food stamps.

Words of Wisdom Concerning Water

You can never see your reflection in water pooled in the palms
Of your own hands. Try it. It’s impossible. I think
Your hands would have to be as deep as oceans and as wide as canyons
For your face to show up in the water you’ve cupped in your hands.

There are myths about people falling into the water after falling in love
With their own reflections, that the face they saw peering out at them
From the rocky depths of fish-fouled water was so fucking beautiful
That they just had to try to kiss it, but no, I don’t believe it

No one could be that stupid, to not know what their own face looked like
To have not seen their reflection a thousand times before
In dirty run-off ponds, in a wooden bowl filled with still soup,
In a TV cop’s mirrored sunglasses. I just don’t believe it.

If it’s cold enough that the water pooled in your hands begins to freeze solid,
You should go inside. You’ll catch your death from that kind of cold.
If it evaporates from exposure to the wind and the heat
You should get more. You can’t have too much water
On a day like that.