the decorator

my friend
patrick used
to wear a full
length black
bear fur coat
at the first
hint of winter,
before ice,
before snow.
he didn't really
care what you
thought about
that either.
he had an
earring in one
ear and one eye
had a mind of
it's own and
would wander on
occasion, a lisp
allowed
only certain
words to be
spoken clearly,
always followed
by a high pitched
laugh and sneer.
he would show
you his two
nubbed fingers
sawed off one summer
making a valance
while drinking
sangria. he was in
the marines once,
received a purple
for a wound he
would show by pulling
up his shirt and
pointing at a
scalloped moon
scar. married three
times and had
more male lovers
than you could count
most dead before
their time. he loved
and hated you
within minutes
of each other.
he was the weather
on a tropical
isle. he was
the artic circle
when things didn't
go his way.
when he wasn't
picking a pastel
color or silk
fabric for someone's
boudoir he was
lifting weights
and tanning his
short squat body.
he's been sixty-four
for about twenty
years now.