I could practically smell the
cigarettes
Though the windows were
rolled up
In the aging tan-colored Oldsmobile
It is the first thing I
noticed, strangely
A sun-shriveled old face
Peered above the steering
wheel
Crowned by a large straw hat
We were united he and I
Two travelers, strangers
Our only common ground the
numbing freeway
I began to wonder about his
life
And wonder if he wondered
about mine
I imagined him an artist
A widower, missing his
children
Who again forgot to send a
card
I could see him on the old
dock
On the summer lake at dusk
Sitting cross-legged, casting
his line
Thinking of the malignancy
That took them all from him
That steady current in his
own veins
I craved to know his stories
A little girl version of
Manolin
And suddenly he was The Old
Man and the Sea
As I made my exit
My eyes lingered on the aged
auto, aged hat, aged man
Continuing together to amble
the road
I silently wished him
farewell
And for his final battle, one
Not so bitter-sweet as Santiago’s