Median Man

by Brian Jones

Added 23 June 2003

Strolling the sandbar between opposing currents
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.

Even so there is a sadness at the sight.
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.

The only ones who match their eyes with his
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

U.S. Copyright # Txu 728-358