Doghouse Jim

poetry

It was the arthritis,
he said,
as he handed me his
envelope.

But he used to have
a name for himself.
A hundred dollar ad
in a local paper.

Must have sold him
about sixteen of ’em
just from that one ad,
he said as he pulled out
his pictures.

That was the biggest,
but I only did that one
once. Hard working in
a shop with no heat,
arthritis and all.

But he used to have
a name for himself.

Doghouse Jim.

A hundred dollar ad
in a local paper.

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