Rachel Wolfe Traces

I have these questions, settin’ in myself. If I could only open my mouth. I always wondered how so many are satisfied by why’s. The questions seem all there’s left to push on ahead. The more things I never said, the more proof I can see.

I watched a man pick-pocket some silver haired lady as I rode into town the other day. He looked around before gazin’ straight out the window; he slid his left hand right on down into that beige bag draped near her caboose. That pocket book was loud and ugly-sure made me mad. Just the sight of that thing. As I reached for the string to tug on for a stop, I blinked too hard and lost my balance. Fallin’ onto that lady was a sure mess. If I ever known a woman carrying an eyesore round her rump like that might just the same strike an ugly response-I’d have aimed for the floor.

Guess I looked kinda poor wearin’ my favorite T-shirt from junior high. All the other kids went on and got fat. Like that man’s want for wallets or that woman’s love for verbal release. But I ain’t sorry for nuthin’. My shirt makes me happy and they really ain’t much to say about folks these days. Maybe I ought to sell some T-shirt of my own to ’em.

Rachel Wolfe

Landscape Stories, 2011

copyright © Rachel Wolfe, 2011