Isaac Prose

Isaac is spitting blood onto the pavement. There are all of those little stones in the pavement. I keep thinking they're his teeth, I am all hunched over looking, like when I was eight or ten, I chipped my tooth at the ice skating rink, hunched over the same way. Looking for the white pebbles of lost teeth, like lost children, like chipped ice, that melt into the pavement before you can find them.