there’s a
guy that sits
at the intersection
of MacArthur
and Fairmont
in a black leather
jacket and
black leather
hat, never smiles
until one day
I’m holding
a Fleetwood Mac
record in
my hands
and he stands up
off his
crate and yells
“Fleetwood Mac is the shit!”
so am I,
because
the shame
of not wanting
to give it to him
keeps me
from being
able to
understand
the man
wasn’t
asking.