I invade dumpsters. Eyes widen, surveying Keystone Light cartons, corn stalks, and empty steak packages. I conjure barbeques, gesturing arms, and laughter.

     Have another beer, some steak.

     I taste smiles. Voices offering beds. Welcome.

     Caught. Cold eyes dissect stench—beard.

     Bum, wanderer.

     I hold dreams. Try to smile.

     My smile feels like sobs.

About the author:

Mir-Yashar’s work has appeared or is forthcoming in journals such as Maudlin House, Door Is a Jar Magazine, and Ariel Chart. He lives in Idaho.