one day, i met the invisible man
walking down the road
in nothing but a pair of shoes—
he stopped mid-step
when he saw me
i saw no hands,
but the shh-shh
of a mom shushing her kids
sang from the sidewalk:
don’t tell nobody, he warned,
they won’t believe you anyway
the invisible man crossed the street;
cars didn’t honk at him
just the thud of bumper on skin,
but they drove on: bump bump
when he didn’t get up,
a homeless man crossed the street and
stole the shoes off the invisible man’s feet—
he stopped mid-step
when he saw me
i saw no hands,
but his teeth tore the shoes
off invisible feet.
he spat the laces back in the road:
don’t tell nobody, he warned,
they won’t believe you anyway
the hand-less man crossed the street;
cars didn’t honk at him
the invisible man and I
watched him walk
away
—
Charles Venable is a storyteller from the southeastern United States with a love of nature and a passion for writing. He believes stories and poems are about getting there, not being there, and he enjoys those tales that take their time getting to the point.
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