The Ray

i was probably readying a worthless coin to be shuffled out the driver's window

the crutch man knew our car
he made his legs work beneath him
by throwing and catching them at angles propped against the pavement

polio hadn't taken his limbs so much as caused them to be repurposed
we usually smiled over a traded franc
"good luck"s and "good bless you"s

the black top steamed, the ocean town air stuffed of liquid and moto smoke
and the vapors of unmoving sewage.

across the median the queues honked furiously,
they skirted a downed moto
each next car to reach the front of the impasse
uncertain of how to regard the small line of brain and blood in a ray
from a young man's head
stretched quietly on the avenue