5294. WATERBOY

WATERBOY

I guess it's a natural thing to wish to go home 

again, even after home has been proven to be

gone. Time exists in layers, amidst overlays

of occurrence. We cannot undo the past, as 

all that ever was no longer is. You may know 

that bulb you planted last year as it reappears

right now, but it is not the same. Time is the

ne'er do well dweller in a hut made of straw.

-

I walk past the fruit vendor, with his tiny dollar

bananas and his enormous by contrast zucchinis.

I watch the passers-by exult  -  they stop to talk 

or buy. Apples, bananas, even artichokes and

kale. Items arrayed, not for color or size, but

for being, alone. Presence. Existence within

our world of time. 'I wish to eat this. I shall.'

-

Someone like a Waterboy on a football team  - 

the high school kind, the kid who was otherwise

good for nothing, and certainly not good at sport.

He always came up last. 'Let's make him the

Waterboy', they'd laugh; that someone to schlep, 

that pity-case with little talent. He gets planted

anew, yet returns, each year, always the same,
doing what he's told to do.