He sat at his office cubicle
caught a glimpse outside a window,
of a worker in a yellow hard hat
balanced on a steel bridge
high above the skyline.
When he looked back at his ledger
everything blurred
and nothing added up.
He figured if he continued
in this direction
he would never see sunlight again.
His shoulders would become hunched,
he'd have to wear thick glasses
and carry a respirator
and for what?
To fill the pockets
of the guys who wear the suits
in the big offices
with the large double doors,
the ones with club memberships
and two hour lunches.
Much better, he decided,
to be on the road
and see if he could live without
strangers clinging to his throat.
He pulled off his tie
and walked down the hall
ran out the door
and never looked back.
I saw him yesterday
sitting at a bus stop
his skin weathered,
his clothes ragged.
He learned to live on the street
and was happy with that.
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