falling down

he tells you a story
about falling on the ice,
his face knotted red,
bluish bruises over
and under his eyes.
his arm is in a sling.
his leg is bent as he
rests against the wall
holding a paint brush
and can, smoking.
a tooth is broken,
you can see that when
he laughs. I fell on
the ice, he says,
then down the stairs
in front of my apartment.
it was dark, I was drinking.
they never salted the steps.
it's all a lie of course,
you know that, and he
knows that you suspect
something different. but
he tells the story so well,
you almost don't want to
know the truth. the truth
too hard to hear.
the next day, he tells you
what really happened.
about the men who broke
in and beat him, taking
all the money he had
saved in his coffee tin.