I could practically smell the cigarettes





Though the windows were rolled up

In the aging tan-colored Oldsmobile





It is the first thing I noticed, strangely





A sun-shriveled old face

Peered above the steering wheel





Crowned by a large straw hat





We were united he and I

Two travelers, strangers





Our only common ground the numbing freeway





I began to wonder about his life

And wonder if he wondered about mine





I imagined him an artist

A widower, missing his children





Who again forgot to send a card





I could see him on the old dock

On the summer lake at dusk





Sitting cross-legged, casting his line





Thinking of the malignancy

That took them all from him





That steady current in his own veins





I craved to know his stories

A little girl version of Manolin





And suddenly he was The Old Man and the Sea





As I made my exit

My eyes lingered on the aged auto, aged hat, aged man





Continuing together to amble the road





I silently wished him farewell

And for his final battle, one





Not so bitter-sweet as Santiago’s







