One last good man.

Give him to me
and I will turn his
body into the kind
of body that doesn’t
mean ‘weapon’.

Give him to me
hungry, starving,
and I will feed him
and fill him and
fill him and.

Give him to me
rough and aching.

The city lights can
slide over his face
in orange shards,
bruises like oil slick
beneath his eyes.

Give him to me
and I will make him
into the shape of
something I can
care for, or at least
something I can
touch with my hands.

Give him to me
teeth and all.

I will take him
dead or alive
or anything
in between.