Miasma

by James Jacobo-Mandryk

Tall in his bundle of coat lurching bobbing he appears at your side. A palm at his brow. His stupid mouth, his wayward eye. Something in his. No hellos. You had wished once he would bow to you again but now there is only his lapel, the snow sticking silent, the nothing of the day.

6S

James Jacobo-Mandryk lives in Montreal.