Commuted

Standard

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A slight man,
plaid shirt,
crew cut,
beige jacket
zipped to mid-chest,
metal framed glasses,
plain and practical,
inexpensive,
skin the color of playground sand.
The kind of man you see
standing in the aisle at Salvo
at 7:12 on a Tuesday morning
earnestly assessing
windshield washer fluid options,
proactively averting a crisis
of dry reservoirs
for things essential to a clear view.

He loomed above me
across the intersection
in his sun-faded blue truck
made massive on monster wheels,
commuted
to another,
entirely.
An un-reckoned force.

 

April 3, 2014
Julie Ayers
NaPoWriMo Day 3

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