A nose-less man walks in.
He asks for change.
His skin, burned off,
grew back whorled.

A taste for the grotesque
emboldens some to stare.
I quickly fall into that hole
in the middle of his face.

Things sinister. The lamplight
polishes itself. I hear again
The plea of that girl
in Buenos Aires,

who was monstrously burned,
who stood, steady and hairless
demanding change and countenance
In a second hand dress,

who left             without even
a “Dios te bendiga.”
 
 
Mario Alejandro Ariza‘s ambitions far exceed his abilities. He teaches a foreign language for a living, and in his spare time likes to roam New York using big words in small ways.