In Character

It's fun to play pretend.

I was playing around and I created a character. I don’t know his real name, but people call him something generic and monosyllabic. His skin is rough, grooved, and calloused. He’s thick fingered and thick eyebrowed. His voice has a deep rasp. He usually shaves, but I think he let it go for a few days before writing this poem and there’s more gray in his stubble than any other color.

I would have called this poem something like “Killer Kudzu” or “The Overlook(ed),” but my character is too tired to title his poem, so it doesn’t have one.

It costs a couple pills each night
But the job is full time and
Living wage in this place means
You’re rich. 

Kudzu blankets the real estate market
Reclaiming homes once owned by
Thriving young families, now without glass
And past waste.

The river still flows through this place.
It turns around shallow cliffs past
Former cul de sacs, relieving 
Mountain springs.

It slices the valley of sickly green leaf
Running clear and dark
Like liquid onyx, water over slate,
Black blood.

I wear a vest and breathe sawdust.
The company provides goggles.
I buy my own mask. Veteran tip-
Protect your lungs.

They give you 10 minutes to smoke
As long as you take your vest off and 
Wear your smoking shirt. I’ve been quitting
30 years.

I’m still here. The smoking area has
A picnic bench. I can sit. I stare out
At the kudzu. When I started, those
Were trees.

The cement and concrete appear
To hold back the encroaching plant.
But it doesn’t. We cut it back
Weakly.

I know death is near. I taste it in 
The tar toxically mixed with my
Tobacco. Breath. Smoke. I want
It all to burn.

In wordy wordiness,

Walter