THAT BOY

If only I could forget
that coke boy at the South Railway Station
his clothes were rags with an undetectable smell
he asks me to buy him an ice-cold Coke.
It‘d be good at any vendor over the way
he carries another hidden country on his back
how many urine stinking underpass was carried
by that backpack to look into his eyes
or with tree shots in my mouth
should I whisper that I have a stripy straw with me

He drank he digested every word
I said at once what could I have
whispered to his dark brown mouth
with my face turned aside that I had no change
all I don’t know what I’ve said.
Under his missing palm
how many clashing sounds stalled in aluminum bottles
he sipped fast with disgust and delight
with that sickening taste on his tongue.

Like bubbles get together in the depth of the sips If only…
those hands and broken shoes coal colored clothes
wrapped around the body of the sizzling concrete,
those tracks that curved straight I exist
that in vain if he can’t ask anything from
me. And suddenly I feel that undying thirst
which that boy feels in the roof of my mouth
where that unquenchable pain lays tiles
to make me call out to the passers-by

I was told three hours for the anesthesia to wear off.