Castro

Nose, like a sail
Jutting beyond cheeks
Of steel wool
His thick, pecan skin
Pocked and filthy
He looks like Castro
On a bender.

Red eyes, like bitter wells
He surveys his world.
Gulping diesel exhaust
He belches curses
In slurred Spanish.

Staggering at the curb
He swills from a bottle
Wrapped in a paper bag.
Angrier by the moment
Castro spins a swaying circle
Gesticulating at all he sees
Summoning an imaginary firing squad.

Dismissing the world
With the flick of his wrist
Castro squats in the dappled shade
Of a scrub bush
Chin nodding
Into his soiled shirt.

In his wake are broken children
And more than one woman
Who cringes at his memory.

But Castro is heedless
As he again rises
To lecture the assembly
At the red light.