Sam Drummer

Even in mid-summer, when the sun
is a whip and dogs lie in shaded holes, 
Sam Drummer buttons on his brown cardigan.
Tattered, encrusted with dirt, it's his second skin.

Sam shares a half-way house with five 
bent-over men who don't wear cardigans,
but cough a lot and spit into cups.
He collects cans, trades them for Big Macs,
shoelaces trailing behind him.

Voices tell him to turn right, to stop,
to fling his arms to the sky and wave them.
Sometimes they convince him he's God.
Children giggle when he preaches on street corners,
point beneath their mother's pursed lips.

Sometimes he turns to stare at their faces.
Vague images drift of a hand holding his,
a spoonful of oatmeal served warm to the mouth.
He blinks and the memories unravel.

 

Pris Campbell
©2004

Art: Reflexive by Mexican Artist, Mariano Petit De Murat

copyrighted and used with permission

Click HERE to visit his site and view a variety of fascinating images. A prize winning artist, this site will mesmerize!

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