Blessed Are the Poor in Dade County Clinic
Big Ronnie, who served in Iraq
and never came back, watches the sun rise
in the red, yellow-white, blue of his eyes
on the corner of Oakland Park Boulevard
where Ronnie sells Miami Heralds
not far from his dugout of flies
that swarm around Red Man spittle.
If there's no get up by morning, well,
he can sell roses at five pm
to a shirt and tie for the missus
after he walks to Dade County Clinic
for meds he won't give to Sundance Kid
who offers a ride in his Lexus
with Pillsy and Toothless Fred.
He'd rather look like a black ant, he says,
with a black plastic trash bag on his back
in which he tosses aluminum cans
he stows away from the clumps of chew
while he swallows two Lorazepams
to stop the rat-tat-tat in his head
next to an infield that looks like a desert.
This Is grit between your teeth stuff GM