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Thunder Sandwich #23 |
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Charles P. Ries |
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MARLBORO MAN ON MICHIGAN AVE Sitting on the sidewalk outside Sak's Fifth Avenue, he didn't look too crazy. Long gray beard, clean white tee shirt and blue jeans. But his eyes were crazy. Focused at the end of his quickly dwindling butt chug a'lugging it like a Pabst Blue Ribbon. Maybe he was the guy who sold the shoes, not wanting to waste time with a Big Mac on his lunch break. Sucking up cigs for an early afternoon buzz that would carry him to closing time. A smoking pro, he cradled his three inch joy stick with his ten finger tips as I watched him down that Marlboro in 30 seconds waiting for the light to turn green. BELOW THE FLOOR I live in the basement beneath the footsteps. The furnace whistles to me on cold days. The washing machine hums to me at night. My ex-wife lives one floor above, 10,000 miles away. My daughters with wings sail between heaven and earth. Getting honey from the clouds and iron from the brown soil. My possessions are ideas. My lovers names all rhyme. My conquests are fictionalized. The shadow side of home sweet home, where a giant prowls naked beneath the floor and ideas grow during intercourse. |