Freak Magnet

Freak Magnet

A weirdo. A freak.
A stranger in the seat

next to me on the bus.
In the elevator, only us

for thirty-two floors.
The lady who stored

wadded-up Safeway
bags in every halfway

concave vessel: a shoe,
her purse, even a few

in her bra. The one
who called me hon

when I heard her sobbing
in the dressing room, Bring

me another size, would you,
hon, I’m okay, a few

hard days is all. An old
man telling me his whole

how-he-got-here bit,
making the pieces fit

grammatically but not
chronologically, he got

to this city in 1979, met
his wife in ’72, let

him think, his son is how
old, and he is now

a doctor, takes a special kind
of person not to mind

the sickness of others,
not like his brothers,

I’m agreeing now, Right,
special, picturing his sons fight

each other so they could be called
strong or good or bright or tall.