on the sidewalk and in the sun
I have seen an old man around town recently
carrying an enormous pack.
he uses a walking stick
and moves up and down the streets
with this pack strapped to his back.
I keep seeing him.
if he’d only throw that pack away, I think,
he’d have a chance, not much of a chance
but a chance.
and he’s in a tough district—east Hollywood.
they aren’t going to give him a
dry bone in east Hollywood.
he is lost. with that pack.
on the sidewalk and in the sun.
god almighty, old man, I think, throw away that
pack.
then I drive on, thinking of my own
problems.
the last time I saw him he was not walking.
it was ten thirty a.m. on north Bronson and
hot, very hot, and he sat on a little ledge, bent,
the pack still strapped to his back.
I slowed down to look at his face.
I had seen one or two other men in my life
with looks on their faces like
that.
I speeded up and turned on the
radio.
I knew that look.
I would never see him again.
Autres oeuvres par Charles Bukowski...
