Lint Roller

He felt funny
the same way comedians
imagine themselves.

Stumbling down the street
in another man’s
pants.

Vomiting into his chest hair
he fell to the curb
and let out a single
strange moan.

The voice was not his.
It was throaty and masculine
the same way fighter jets
talk.

His hock shop mind
filled with trading card
memorabilia.

Shoes on his hands
like a new way of walking.

And many people stepped over him
as though he were the lip
of an escalator.

So he started rolling quickly
across the pavement
which made him think he may
have been a bike tire
or a wine barrel
or a lint
roller

in a past
life.