Transient Gets 2nd Thought in Death

Harley Edward Duggan, I never knew your name. You weren’t worth a second thought, like something the trash men forgot. Barefooted, you jabbered as you sat against the wall at Thrifty. I did not stop.

What could you know? You were just a bum, another local, burned-out, crazy. I was busy with work, marriage and children, things you wouldn’t understand.

I sip coffee and read your story in the paper. You were a successful shoe repairman, a boxer, guitarist, husband and father who cracked under the pressure of life, like the shoes people brought you to fix. I did not try to put you back together.

These days I often stop at your wall. I see cards and flowers from others who remember you. Your shroud is left too. It outlines your space, dark as the guilt that frames my soul.

JENNIE W. GASKINS

San Juan Capistrano