Archive 10/28/08 - (1)

   

Odd Fellow

              

On my way to work,

I gave a ride to a bedraggled hitchhiker.

He wore no clothes, was all skin and bones.

 

When he jumped into the front seat of my pickup,

His wide smile a picket fence of broken teeth,

I could smell him, at once; he was a bog.

 

Why had I decided to assist such an odd fellow?

Was it that I felt sorry for him,

That gaunt, naked scarecrow teetering at roadside?

 

"Where you going?" I asked. "Anywhere at all."

"I'm heading for work." "That's fine. Thanks."

He turned on the radio, tuned in static.

 

I stared straight ahead, didn't dare agitate him,

By switching the dial to a station

Or saying anything more. Then we were there.

 

He stepped down, from the cab, onto the parking lot.

His stench stayed behind.

I was absent from work, after that.

 

 

 

 

 

10/28/08 - (1)

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
       

 

 
   
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