old man spoke with tears in his eyes
telling tales of better days
about seasons which bled into each other
like paint
how colors seemed to fade a little each passing year
–
he remembered his childhood home
how he left it
went to new york one eve on a departing train
refusing to look back
until he learned
his parents died
–
he bought a ticket and rode the rails back
the house had burnt
along with ma and pa
–
he’d attended their service
avoiding contact with relatives as well as
members of the community
family friends
didn’t share any words
just
sat in a corner sipping wine
not feeling at all
–
walked out into the night amidst the fire fly glow of street lamps and
vaporous wisps of vent steam
–
wandered for awhile
never staying any one place too long
made many acquaintances
yet few friends
held many positions
yet never a career
–
moonlighting in maine
a fisherman on a rusting vessel
stint in san antonio
a night guard on the grave shift
passed time in Iowa
washing dishes for less than minimum wage
–
slept on park benches when times got tough
washed himself in public restrooms with bits of paper towels and antibacterial soap
surrounded himself with fringe society delegates
whores dealers thieves drunks junkies
people just as lost and
unsure as himself
–
it was a beautiful trip
he said
and i wouldn’t change it for the world