db cox american business card the pitchless hum of an idling greyhound combines with the suffocating fumes of diesel fuel to soak the night air with noisy poison a skinny panhandler, wearing a kid’s spiderman tee-shirt, sits crumpled, like lost luggage, outside the brownsville bus depot hard times & places chiseled across his face – engravings on a tombstone two hollow eyes, like piss-holes in the snow, stare blankly at the human caravan flowing along with a totally assured sense of destination there’s a wrinkled square of cardboard at his side—a kind of faded-brown, contemporary american business card the fractured graffitti, “out of work”, scrawled across the front one look at this guy, & you know he’s done for—& knows it— still, his accusing eyes look up at me, as if i could save him the pitchless hum of an idling greyhound……………………

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