I like those old guys
who still refer to themselves
as "The Kid".
When I was arrested
I had it coming.
It was fajita day,
and I slept like a log
adrift in the purring ocean.
The old kid
looked me down,
sizing me up.
You're not supposed
to wear white after Labor Day,
he said.
I drew him a giraffe
on a napkin
and left it on his cot.
Released in the morning
to a good afternoon,
and some change.
But not much,
just enough for a soda,
which I only drank half.
And I walked home
with a dead phone,
my head held in the middle.
Am I too old
to sleep in my boots
tonight?