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Tony Leuzzi

THE MAN WITH THREE NOSES

I
would
not have
believed it
had I not seen him
for myself in a small café
along one of the persistently fashionable


streets
of
Paris
where women
wrapped in velvet scarves
and a cool air of elegance
pass like the still but extended wings of silent birds


and
svelte
boys in
close fitting
clothes gaze above their
steaming cups of coffee at a
distant thing—or nothing at all—their red lips parted.


POINT OF VIEW

A
bald
man in
an over-
sized army jacket
settles upon the scarred surface
of a bench in the park, then sinks slowly into sleep.


A
tall
boy with
tangled hair
bends before the man,
tweaks the lens of his thirty-five
millimeter, steps in once more, is about to shoot


when
he
and the
man are caught—
quickly—by the frame
of another man’s camera
for the “Living” section of the local newspaper.



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