Small Town Boy

Small town diva boy,
his mascara is smeared and he’s lovely.
He flinches like a quick thing wrapped up against the chill,
And catches a ride on the highway

from a man named Luke with a pickup truck and snow tires.
He says he’s got no name at all.

He’s thin as a metal ruler’s cutting edge.
He has lines up his legs and his mouth open.

Luke sticks a hand under the dash
and warm air pours onto his lap.
Hey little raccoon,
Luke says,
get warm again.

It’s cold enough outside the mascara is freezing
in little black tracks on his cheeks.

You’re all smeared up,
Luke says,
your lines are bleeding.

The black-eyed boy thinks about cutting edges,
Thinks about smiling.
He curls in the corner of the cab and says,

He’s going into the city to stay, can he get a lift as far as the station?

Luke shakes his head and is kind.
He says,
I’m taking you all the way.