Screamer
By Gene Aronowitz
He slumped in his subway seat,
the hood of his puffy coat over his face,
one hand on
his shabby
shopping cart,
filled with bulging garbage
bags. He shot up,
his face enflamed.
“Get your asses off
the mother-fucken train,"
he sobbed.
“Tired
of your shit. Get
the fuck off. Get the fuck
off. A little boy
moved
only his eyes.
Just then,
a vendor came in
with a sparkly lit crawling yoyo.
“Yayo one dolla. Yayo one dolla,” he droned and looked
at the screamer. “You wan
yayo?” The screamer nodded,
smiled,
looked around,
and closed his eyes.
