Spring in Madison

When the spring-heavy clouds
hover their soggy bodies over this city,
the men who live on the length
of State Street flock to the coffeeshop across
from the mediterranean cafe to swap
cups of congealed coffee infused
with rainwater and flash their chip-tooth
no-toothed smiles.


homeless on state

He stops me on the corner of state and Johnson

just after the blurry line of switching todays

eyes shiny change purses,

pupils glinting like dimes.

we compare our inked skins

discuss meanings of stained bodies and

shake hands.

reaching into denim tightened pockets

I have a 5.

“If you ever need anything, let me know,” he says.

Handing away crumpled bills,

the paper is too thin to fill my stomach.

I need anything.