The truck has come by
A truck has come by, slowed down to
a crawl, and
one by one
6 or 8 men were thrown out onto the
These men have completed their contracts
with the machine
of profitable work, and can no longer
The women do not want them either
tossed and mostly still in the dusty
roadside turf of early spring.
Real men, with testicles and penises,
but with their pasts stolen or worn to a nub,
and their futures lost or hidden.
Or, at least I think this is what
Because here in front of me in the
near distance is a ragged line of men,
sprawled out in random positions,
looking lost, weary, all with eyes closed.
They begin to move, slowly,
as if finding themselves--
creating themselves from the compost
of their own decay.
One man has fingers and toes that
seem animated in fits of some memory.
One holds his head gently and rocks.
Another has stood up, seemingly against
all odds, and wanders with a blind,
uncertain gait, arms outstretched.
One man flat on his back hums a long
lost tune under his breath.
Another remains curled in a fetal
pose, sides rising in deep breaths.
A man squirms across the ground, while
another starts pounding dull fists at the end of big, slow arms.
Some memories return....and....ahhh....I
am one of them--
the first thrown out of the truck
Gradually we begin to find one another,
and wonder together what questions to ask of this new world.