The Parking Lot

A man, small and slender,
Whose head traveled in front of the rest of his body,
Stopped.

And bending over from his waist,
Resting his hands on his knees,
He stared intently at a small piece of the parking lot.

Shuffling ever so slightly forward,
He seemed to be looking for something lost,
Something precious.

In a moment,
Without ever changing his focus,
He reached down,
Picking up something tiny,
Perhaps something imaginary.

In one smooth motion
He raised up and transferred the object
From his hand to his left wrist,
Pushing it into the spot where his watch would have been.

Then he stood up,
Looked straight ahead,
And shoved his hands into his jean pockets,
Looking satisfied.

Turning around,
He walked away,
One of God’s children,
Lost in his own world.

And leaving me with so many questions!



Jim Hughes
March 2006