Two Poems by Kevin Ridgeway

The Kid

The kid is maybe
thirteen years old,
raking the leaves
and dirt
of a small lawn
adjacent to
the bus stop
I’m sitting at

He sweats
while I sip
from a plastic
water bottle
full of wine,
and he curses
as I fumble for
my disabled

His father
at him
in Spanish
while I
in gibberish

I’m twenty five years
dressed in fly-bitten
and kissed
by the darkness
of my flophouse

this kid
is royalty
compared to me.

The Two Poets

I saw a well known-poet,
and I approached him
to introduce myself
and tell him I
admired his work

another well-known poet
who knew the well-known poet
I was talking to
rounded the corner
and the two men
greeted each other
this other poet looked at me,
who’s this?

I told him my name,
and his three name nom de plume
shattered my parent’s
meager baby book choices
like glass

as they walked away
from me,
a bird took a shit
on my notebook
of recent poems

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