The man on the Charles Bridge tells me he wants to die. He says this while I pass him on my
way across to the other side. He grabs me by the arm, speaks six or seven languages until he
finds the one that’s mine.
He opens his bag, shows me his camera, the lenses, the case.
“I have so much money,” he complains.
He has a gold chain around his neck, his hair glows slick black.
I offer him a cigarette.
“Do you want me to get cancer?” he’s offended.
“But you said you want to die,” I remind him.
“Would you like to go to dinner?”
I decline.
“Maybe another time.”

Bobbi Lurie is the author of four poetry collections, most recently “the morphine poems.” She is currently working on a book about/with Marcel Duchamp.