from a mother's arms

it used

to be, back in the old neighborhood

there

was one

crazy guy,

maybe two,

maybe three, but no more

than that.

they each had their

own corner,

or box

to sit on

and preach or have

conversations

with the invisible souls

around them.

they seemed

impervious to weather

never

hurting anyone

that i know of. but people

were

afraid of them

walking

across the street

to avoid

their gaze

and rhetoric.

they were bombs

with the fuse lit,

we thought.

we wondered how did they

get there,

from a mother's arms,

from the warm

crib, and lullaby's,

to this.

who's next?