This afternoon I drove passed a man, slowly walking,
Alone, on a slim strip of sidewalk,
In the opposite direction of the flowing traffic …
He appeared disheartened and disheveled,
As if the harsh, unrelenting cycle of seasons
Had victoriously etched its presence
Upon his face, like graffiti artists, crafting
A pale and wrinkled, unshaven mask,
From which his unkempt hair dangled
In greasy, gray ringlets past his jawline,
And from both arms, plastic grocery bags hung,
Equally balanced, reminiscent of water bearers,
Carrying their cargo, struggling for sustenance.
Yet, there he was, persisting along his path;
His gait, labored; shoulders, drooped; and spine, hunched,
yielding to the weight of an unseen rucksack,
possibly stuffed with the chapters of a mysterious memoir
Documenting the arduous journey he’d traveled.
And, after leaving him behind, I wondered:
If we, the passing drivers, were unwittingly
Rushing towards the places
From which he’d turned his back?
E. V. “Beth” Wyler is a klutz, who spends too much time in the E.R. When she’s not getting patched up with stitches, staples and Band-Aids, E. V. plays with words because she’s not bright enough to play with numbers. Her poetry has appeared in: The Eclectic Muse: A Poetry Journal, Feelings of the Heart, The Lyric,Nuthouse Magazine, The Pink Chameleon, The Poet’s Haven, The Rotary Dial, Society of Classical Poets, The Storyteller, Vox Poetica, WestWard Quarterly, and on the website of USA Patriotism! She thanks you for reading her poetry.