Che in the Burbs

He glides along, unperturbed by the uneven sidewalk,
and the silent admonitions of passersby.

Earbuds full of some oblivion he is a lean youth,
twice his length in legs as torso and dark eyes empty of eternity.

His momentum is a mystery on this flat stretch of road,
but he doesn’t question the suspension of gravity for his sake alone,

instead he just stares ahead,
ball cap, backpack fatigue jacket and curly black beard,

blowing circles of cigarette smoke,
like Che Guevara’s motorbike across Argentina.