Walking home, I saw a man from Sangren walk
outside the steel construction fence and down
the hill in front of me.
What is his name? Dirty boots, black jeans, and a black sweatshirt with
an Igloo cooler strapped to his back. Did it hold a sandwich
his wife made him?
He fashioned a makeshift
backpack using red tie downs I saw my dad use
to reel in the boat a few years back. Did he have
a hard life? A milk jug, half-filled with water and attached
to a ripped white T-shirt
was fashioned as a purse that swung on his shoulder
hitting his side each step of the way. Did he chug the lukewarm water until his
stomach hurt sometimes? The way
he walked made me feel bad. As if each ounce
of pride left him as he saw students stare
at his dirty clothes and white hardhat. I wanted
to talk to him. What is his name? I missed
my chance. He was young, though. One of the mildest
winters on record kept him that way.
Maybe I'll meet him next
Monday: the man
I saw from Sangren.