JIMMY

He tried to remove the rocks in the rough driveway

Did Jimmy, the old colored who worked without wages

The old man, simple, gentle, not quite part of the family

Who had a bed in the attic, a toilet in the basement

And took his meals in the pantry

The sweet old man, who had ears for the troubles of each family member

Expressed no opinion, who was silent and safe

Who worked hard, even struggled with boulders in the driveway

When not drunk.

No one knew his age, not even he

Nor where he came from and no one asked

He came, he stayed, he worked and if payed he drank

He drank as he worked, he drank hard with no rest until he could drink no more

He could drink no more, nor remember who he was, where he belonged, or why he lived

Finally the family collected him, stinking of alcohol and slime,

Cleaned him up and put him back to work.

Jimmy struggled with those rocks, small nuisances that grew

Into enormous boulders as large as a car, boulders that if removed

left a deep chasm that somehow had to be filled

No one told him that the driveway had to be smooth, perfect, boulder-less, chasm-less

But with that driveway Jimmy did battle

Between chores, again and again he returned to that rough driveway

When not drunk

When not drunk, without wages, stage by stage, year through year,

He struggled with that driveway

That fertile driveway, that each spring grew more rocks, which Jimmy harvested

Harvested and crushed, harvested again and again with shovel and pickax

When not drunk

Jimmy the old colored who had no past, who drank, who earned no wages

Who had nothing but a bed in the attic and a toilet in the basement,

Who struggled to make a driveway smooth

Struggled and struggled until he disappeared

And now no one can quite remember when.

The driveway remains rough and rocky.