Wednesday, January 26, 2011


Waiting on the bus today I met this man
He had on a tan work jumpsuit
And Lifes lessons left him with a streak of gray that trickled from his temples down his cheek
As if he cried from his thoughts instead of his eyes
Wisdom dripped from every word he spoke
like they had been dipped in his stream of consciousness
He was a gravedigger.
He didn't smell like dead ppl
In fact
when the wind blew, his cigarette smoke smelled like flowers
With a hint of dirt
Like he himself had been planted there as a tribute to a transitioning soul
He had dirt on the boot soles
soaked to his knees like he decided to pluck himself and take a look around life
He said the graveyard was peaceful.
Dead ppl don't raise no hell like the living
Instead they welcome you with open arms that speak peace in silence
Instead of a piece with no silencer
They don't sneak up on you
They don't carry guns
Because they won't kill spirits
I wish we knew this prior to heaven
Maybe then we wouldn't assasinate the spirits of our children
The spirits of our brothers
The spirits of our women
Spirits should be given wisdom
Imparted by souls that left before us
And right then I wondered
As he drove the spade of his shovel in to dirt
If he dug up ancestral wisdom in the process
And couldn't contain it all
And that's why it cries from his temples in the color gray
Irrigating to his mouth
He spits this same truth to me
some lands on the ground
and a sapling seeps from the cracked concrete beneath us
His teeth remind me of tombstones
Standing strong where some have fallen
He rolls lillies into tobacco paper.
Says that it ain't no use in complaining
And smoke signals his worries to the heavens like rising spirits
His calves are shaped like the same spades he makes graves with
As the bus arrives
he digs them curb deep in to the street
and boards his bus.
the pollution from the muffler fertilizes the thoughts he has just planted.

1 comment:

  1. A very interesting read... I enjoyed it!