I stop to watch this homeless guy lying down
with his back against a garbage can on the sidewalk
of one of the busiest areas in downtown San Francisco.
Alternating between forefingers, he picks out boogers
which he proceeds to wipe on the sidewalk.
The expression on his face is almost orgasmic. His eyes
are half closed and his lips seem to be offering gentle kisses
to some imaginary goddess.
I continue to watch him while trying to imagine what it
must feel like to no longer care what other people think,
or for that matter even be aware of their presence.
After cleaning out what appears to be all that remained
inside his nose, he shuts his eyes, and making himself
as comfortable as possible, he now appears ready for a nap.
He looks completely at peace with himself, unlike most of us
passing by who have some place that we have to be—
but don’t really want to be there. . .
[Originally published in Down in the Dirt, 2016]
Jeffrey Zable is a teacher, conga drummer/percussionist who plays Afro-Cuban folkloric music for dance classes and rumbas around the San Francisco Bay Area, and a writer of poetry, flash-fiction, and non-fiction. He’s published work more recently in The Gorko Gazette, The Hooghly Review, Cacti Fur,
Alba, Uppagus and many others.