Witness

There is always,
in every dive and bus bench
and street corner and bar-stool and bank line-up

some shifty gent with cracking skin, thick glasses, scars or scabs,

who mutters curses under his breath to no one,
seemingly,
but me.

jbl-hernstedt-mural-1

I am the chosen one
who soaks up the confessions of the lonely and lost and forgotten.

Lucky me.

One of these days. I’ll witness a death. I just know it.

Why do bad things always happen to me?

-BSB

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