He was a drug addict, they would tell me
He was "malo," they would say
Until a policeman lost his patience
beat him
so bad that he was in the hospital for months
And never walked again
"He had it coming" was the way they'd end the story
But as I visited with him
I discovered more
He read through the entire Bible while he was getting treatment
His spirit changed
And when he was well enough to leave the hospital bed he was taken home just to be laid down again, yet I suppose that
Sometimes he had a wheelchair
He had a job
wheeled himself across miles of dirt road to get there
people would come in, greeting and asking him, "che, como andas?" which is Argentino for "dude, how are you doing?" but a closer translation would be, "dude, how are you walking (or going)?" he would always smile from his chair and say jokingly, "i don't go, i sit."
He was married and had a little boy, Alejandrito (which means little Alexander)
And i would watch him and his family
in their little tin house patched with plywood
His wife loved him; she met him after his accident
and she was never cross about doing everything for him
they had nothing
yet enjoyed everything their poverty had to offer
my favorite phrase he ever said was:
"if your problems have solutions, why worry? and if your problems don't have solutions, why worry?"
This is a poem about a man I knew in Argentina. He is one of my greatest examples.
