The match sparked, caught fire,
blew out before Mary had a chance.
"Damn the man!" Last match,
and she needed a drag badly.
She noticed someone sitting
on a bench across the street.
Maybe he could give her a light.
She crossed, approached him
heels clicking on the sidewalk.
He looked vaguely familiar--
tanned skin, shaggy hair,
beret pulled low, chin in his chest.
"Excuse me, sir," she began,
"could I bother you for--"
He raised his head. Mary gasped.
There were holes where his eyes should have been.