four men
the man who walks beside me on my right
walks with a slight limp.
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| Four Men Walking by Theodore Major |
he’s wearing plaid flannel.
his face bears a grin.
he hums a simple tune.
repetitive. just loud enough to be heard.
out the corner of my eye to the left
I see another man walking.
we walk almost in step.
he has a pained look on his face. intense. slightly angry.
his left hand grasps his upper right arm.
his bare lower arm shows an old tattoo – faded and muddied.
I don’t know what it is.
I don’t need to turn my head to see
the guy walking behind me.
I know that he’s there.
he mutters under his breath.
every once in a while
he steps on the heel of my shoe.
he falls back a little.
then whispers “sorry” loud enough for me to hear him.
the man walking ahead of me just happens to be there.
I am not following him.
he strides purposefully, yet relaxed.
he’s older.
he’s completely bald,
and yet I see flakes of dandruff on the shoulders
of his dark herringbone tweed.
Who are these men?
Where are we going?
Why are we together?
What are they to me?
What are they to me?
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