Transition Man

At marsh’s edge among the groundsel trees

a lone figure stands in tattered khakis

and torn yellow shirt. He offers praising pleas

 

with arms in a “why” before the expanse.

An anxious faith pervades his petrous stance

that someOne will nod to his suppliance.

 

His now-life slumps in a satchel

on the weeds by his feet that straddle

existence between separate societal

 

circles: one turns within community

safely housed; the other spins without security

dependent on unpredictability.

 

Fervent mental monologue saturates

his countenance, desperation promulgates

silent, pleading praises. And so he waits

 

a transition man in the tidy-wild,

the swath where tame and free are reconciled,

waits as though to be lifted like a child

from his altar in the marsh.

 

 

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s