More Ken: What He Looked Like (a Serial Poem) Part 2

Ken lived across the street.  Always

an Older Man, he told us he shaved twice

a day.  Said he’d have a full beard Otherwise.

Although that wasn’t true.  Ken was tall enough,

walked a little like those big black bears. He loped.

He chain-smoked and carried two packs of

cigarettes At All Times.  One in his left hand pants pocket; another

rolled up tightly on the right arm of his white t-shirt.

Learned that trick in the U.S. Navy.  Classic tattoos:

Mother and Hilda, longtime wife. Small eyes and lips

and his nose was substantial.  Ken wasn’t

good looking but he wasn’t bad looking either.  He

never looked different, did not have a face that

fluctuated.  Voice full of cigarettes, scratchy

and low, he said What’s Doing as a way of hello.

He did not wait to hear an answer.

 

 

 

Esther Cohen
Let me tell you why I'm here, and why I hope you'll join me. I am here to poem, to play with words, to tell stories when I can, and to ask you for yours. Words are what I love, how I see, and what I say. Words are how I know my life, and how I find my friends. I'm here to ask you to join me. Right here. To send me your stories, and your poems. And to read mine when you can.

2 Comments

  1. With Ken 2, I have his image in my mind’s eye. Having spent a part of my earlier years around Navy and Air Force bases, I have seen many Kens in my life. It’s about the cig packs rolled in the sleeve of a t-shirt that brings back the memories.

    Thank you, Esther, for continuing this serial poem!

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