Among
the buckets
and mops
a man pushes aside
a sponge hoping to find
anything without a sharp
mildewed stink.
Somewhere he’s hidden
a meaning,
and his soul.
He’s sure.
Before the pails
filled with dank
green
liquid,
before the loss,
before diapers and rent
he dreamt
of a midwest girl,
five acres of bluegrass
kissing the feet of a cabin,
a horse named Scotch,
and a secret escape
near a creek
where he could fish
...or not.
But today is not about
a childhood dream
never discovered after
hide and seek.
Today, like most days,
he fades into the structure
with his monochromatic
gray uniform
and attitude.
Children running,
passing him,
taking him in as inventory.
Desks,
chairs,
chalk boards,
water fountains,
the half man in gray.
If not for bending over
to pick up
the page-puckered
third grade reader,
his eyes would have never been seen
or a thank you uttered.
He is only spoken of
in children’s whispers.
The young ones
talk, with fabled tongues,
of his home in the closet
with a single
pull-chain light and
quickly hung
supply store calendar
still lingering
on January.
Wedged between
pink soap refills and
puke litter
are three tattered photos
long neglected
dusty with heartache.
Pigtails and freckles
frame the eyes
born matching his.
Yellowed Kodak moments
embrace memories departed
but longed for
in a girl, now woman,
disconnected and tortured.
A white-haired matriarch
crayon outlined lips
around an endless smile
of fraggled teeth.
She wears her love and life
in experience lines
like rings in a tree.
He wears her name in a heart
on the forearm tattoo
he got an the first anniversary
of her death.
The last,
a boy
strapping
bat in hand
trophy at his feet.
Tugging at
the brace on his knee
he remembers it more vividly
than the photograph.
What he cannot recall
are the cheers and praise.
The stench of the closet, like motor oil
and any pre-Monday night,
trumps it all.
He didn't choose today
but today has a way of reminding him
it’s here and stretching on
into forever.
What an icy gambler today is,
seeing our dreams and
calling our bluffs
until we’d simply
settle for “hello”.