WALKER By S. Pea Young Scrape. Scrape. Scratch.

The same as the night before Midnight He appears Bald head reflecting moonlight Swollen backpack holding his life and heartaches His brown face staring ahead Scrape. Scrape. Scratch. The sound of the Walker's walker Struggling against the concrete jungle In the distance I hear him Scrape. Scrape. Scratch. He passes my way as he has before Scrape. Scrape. Scratch. But this time I look as he looks I see his eyes as he sees mine As I sit in my high balcony Aloft in my air-conditioned Wonderland And I want to ask him Where are you going? And more importantly, Where have you been? But I keep quiet out of fear or distance He looks away and I am afraid I listen for the familiar sound Scrape. Scrape. Scratch. Closer now Moving up my driveway To my door

Scrape. Scrape. Stop! Silence as I stifle a scream But Fate has other plans for this hapless couple Scrape. Scrape. Scratch. Melting into the distance Scrape. Scrape. Scratch. I listen until my ears bleed to hear humanity again

----------------------------------------Thank you for taking the time to read this short poem. At night I see a stranger struggling to cross the street by my home. It's late, and I wonder where he is going, where he comes from. Tonight he walked by my house, moments ago really, and I stopped my work to look at him, to see him. And he looked at me. And for a moment I believed he wanted to know me. But I suppose that is a silly thought. We are strangers separated by so much more than distance. But yes, I want to know who is he, and why he struggles so. - SP