The man was assembled
by Cubists: his head
attached sideways, he had
no neck. His legs jutted at an angle
I’d never seen before. I pulled out a protractor.

I made art from the lines of his body until he woke. I
packed up, not making
eye contact. He said,
“Miss, I see
that you’ve noticed my body. I could not afford any other.”

I mumbled something innocuous, leaving
before he could ask me for something. I left him
there to find whatever comfort or meaning he could
in his unorthodox assembly. I sold the art
at a prestigious gallery. It was exceedingly popular.