Added 23 June 2003
Strolling the sandbar between opposing currents Even so there is a sadness at the sight. The only ones who match their eyes with his
he spends his declining years hawking pulp.
Thoughts of a wooden Indian come to mind;
stoic but alive, selling but not pleading;
used up past pride but still unashamed.
All those years survived, leading to this:
gulping lungsful of dirty air
and swallowing eyes that disdain to turn his way.
Human avoidance:
out of fear of what they could become
or shame at what they have created.
are those who buy to read the news,
or buy with a wish to ease a conscience.
The rest . . . simply flow by.
Written 22, 27 March 2002
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