Posted by Everett in Poetry | 0 Comments
As My Life Falls Apart, I See a Sign
Driving through Los Banos on the busy highway,
I see a man in sunglasses smoking calmly
in the middle of the road waiting for a gap in traffic
so he can finish crossing. His face is stubbled,
sleeves rolled high on his biceps against the heat.
He is in no hurry, taking one drag then another
from his cigarette, letting the smoke drift
haloed about his head—a rogue angel,
the entire scene swirling round the fulcrum
of his implacable patience:
the exhaust fumes, road rage, the endless
phalanx of cars and big rigs going nowhere.
No less expected, no more. My blue-collar
Buddha, my dollar-store guru, a man
dead center in the middle of it all—
unflinching, ash falling on each
pointed-toe boot.





