Up all night again,
the people out front
all just smoke and make calls
on their cell phones.
There are quiet fights
about divorces and drug prices
being had in the open
for all to ignore.
One gets louder and the man
on the phone slams his face
into the glass of the automatic door.
It opens too slowly and he is
partially scalped by a large shard
still caught in the frame.
He continues to shout
into the speaker even as a swath
of skin dangles from the side of his head
like a partially peeled orange.
When they injected him with pain
killers he screamed a woman’s name
and when he died some flies survived
inside his wound.
Wound
Teleporting Typewriter 