(un)broken

I remember washing the dishes last night between sips of red wine.

Passing the dew-soaked mattress and box spring in front of Damion’s apartment, I remember the man stretched out on these discarded beds Sunday afternoon when the kids were still running around in the sunshine.

I did not break any dishes. I was not drunk.

His arms tucked behind his head, in a sign of ultimate relaxation. I think to myself that something must be broken in that man. His veins running with wine, hard liquor, and crack to sit back and relax on a sidewalk mattress. Sitting out on the street for who knows how long. Tossed out on the street for who know what reason.

D--- and the other kids and myself, getting into my car parked across the street, look sideways at this large man relaxing like a king.

A king of the down and out. A king of the used and filthy.

Perhaps I should not be so judgmental. Perhaps I can learn from this man cat napping where only cats would nap. Peace in South Central in his smile. He sees the good in all situations and resourceful, like making art out of trash.