3.07.2010

Lion of Judah

From my blue plastic bus seat
lined with fake velvet
I watched a man on the sidewalk
fighting his fate.
A thick brown beard not unlike my own
hugged his face. A worn-in baseball cap
shielded his heavy eyes from the March sun.
The olive cargo pants he wore had pockets
undoubtedly filled with electronic devices
and his sneakers were the same type for running
that are rarely used for their intended purpose.
But what struck me most about this man
in his early thirties walking through the West Thirties
was the prayer shawl he wore under his orange plaid button-down.
I knew it was there because of the long white strands
protruding from the sanctuary of his shirt-tails
as most other people native to New York would recognize
but something in his make-up made him want to blend in better
with the other lost souls of his jaded generation.
I watched him wait at the corner for the traffic light to change
for those few seconds and as my bus glided away
I amended my assessment: he wasn't fighting his fate--
he was making it.

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