​Autobiography of an Amputee

a table held the scene black coffee, a pack of cigarettes, and a precambrian sense of dread

there was sound without meaning that reverberated off the texture memory of the brutal walls imprinted wood grain and its old traveler’s history

i found a folded letter tucked discreetly into the pack of cigarettes titled autobiography of a double amputee

the story of a forlorn man whose greatest highlights were a six minute mile and the funeral he had for his legs

outside, the cold dry air disturbed the motionless street and the field maples trembled