He feels the weight of the world,
The rising hate,
But there isn’t anything he can do, another than watch and wait.
He considered the razor,
So that he could blend in,
And thus avoid those ugly stares,
Which he himself hated from within.
But as he raised it to his face,
A sudden thought came to him,
And he put it down,
Wore his fluorescent yellow jacket with an expression grim.
His day began early,
Filled with promise,
As he began sorting through the rubble,
Not caring for what his health is.
He moves rubble and stone,
To the point his back almost gave,
As his supervisor shouts instructions from a shaded tent,
While he labours away looking for a life to save.
Everyone’s taken a break,
But he doesn’t stop,
His mind doesn’t let him,
“Every minute is precious,” says his brain, as he watches his sweat drop.
“Relax for a moment,” says Joe,
He’d been at it for hours without any luck,
So he straightened and cursed his stiff back,
And that’s when he heard the cry, like a wounded duck.
It was faint, but audible,
He clawed at the rubble and Joe came over to help,
In a few minutes they had dug enough,
To reveal a women, whose condition would make anyone yelp.
An hour later they stood outside a café,
And in front of them an elderly man tripped,
Landed hard on footpath,
“So dam uneven !,” he pipped.
He and Joe reached out to help him,
But the elderly man took Joe’s hand and avoided the man with the beard,
Thanked Joe, then looked towards him and gave him and expression weird.
He looked at the man walk away,
And stroked his beard,
As Joe criticised him,
But the damage was already done, as he clutched his chest where the pain seared.
12 September, 2001.