Ode to Pedolo--my only European friend and my only friend with a talking head wound


has a "condition"

and lives by himself

in an assisted-living facility

where he is the youngest resident

by 30 years or so. Once per month


send a Haz-mat crew over to clean

his apartment. "No joke

dude."  He also

has a collection

of DVD porn

20-feet tall

in his bedroom

(although the ceiling in his room is roughly 9 feet tall

[don't ask])

most of it Japanese anime-style,

and a juicy,



hole on top of his


that began as a tiny scab

about the size of a dime

whence a can of olives



on his head

while he was looking for a snack

to eat

while watching

some porn. But he kept picking

at it

(the scab)

unknowingly cultivating the wound

and creating a crater so big and foul

and infected

that eventually he had to be taken

to the hospital

and all the nurses and staff

whispered amongst themselves

of the importance

of seeing "the freak"

in room 203

"With the hole in his head."

The rumor was you could see his brain

but I don't know how true that was.

"That's a hell of a collection."

I say, observing the stack of porn

while he unwraps

gauze from under his chin

and around the top of his head

changing his bandages

with the self-conscious pride and satisfaction

of a war hero

or a lone survivor

of some sort of act of god.

Some of the pus and blood and mucous

seep through the last layer of the wrap.

"Just living the dream,


Just living the dream"

The wound laughs

with a Belorussian


as Pedolo feeds it

a Dr. Pepper.