A Man Adrift

The man is a drifter.

It’s true.

That doesn’t mean that he’s a grifter.

You get that, don’t you?

Besides, who are you to judge?

Do you know all that he’s been through?

.

He spends his days adrift.

Some days he’s a spendthrift.

Others he indulges,

While only wishing for the beloved company that will never come again.

.

Some folks say he must drink away his earnings.

They swear he reeks of gin.

Slinking off in shame to another bar, or another dame.

That he’s so clearly oozing sin.

.

I know better:

Two weeks back, he’d dropped a letter

My curiosity got the better,

I took a peek, I know I shouldn’t have…

What I read nearly broke me into two halves.

.

I then sought him out to apologize,

Offering sympathy and a friend in which to confide.

Alone with his grief and his mission,

He writes heartfelt letters to his wife and children, you see.

.

Sending along photographs and descriptions,

Of all the destinations they should’ve gone,

Professing his love for his family,

Agonizing over all that went wrong.

Dedication is what pushes him onward.

His promise to his wife is one that he’s vowed to keep until his dying day.

.

I turn to them and scoldingly demand:

Have any of you conversed with this man?

Are you aware of what he went through before?

Have you asked if he has a plan?

Do you know what he’s yearning for?

He’s not a lecher you should reprimand!

.

What gives you the right to judge the worth of that man?

He spends his day doing back-breaking work

Yet you all stare at him as if he’s completely berserk;

Even though he’s never met a responsibility that he’s tried to shirk.

.

As I gaze around the room,

His earlier words echo in my mind.

The properly chastened gossipmongers now avoid my gaze.

He clears his throat and addresses the room:

.

He had dreams once.

Did you know?

A family at home.

Now they’re all gone.

He can’t bear to be alone.

.

The walls seem to echo with the laughter of days gone by.

He could still hear his daughter laugh as her Mama sang a sweet lullaby.

It all seemed so real, yet the sounds disappeared with the wind.

.

He begins to cry.

Bogged down as he is with memories of days gone by.

He confesses how he could not remain in their home.

Not when he knew he was now so alone.

.

So he packed a bag and set out on a path,

Not knowing where it would lead.

Just knowing he needed a change of scene, fast.

He’d promised his missus that they’d see the world someday.

.

Now he’s got no choice but to see it on his own.

So onward he roams,

Seeing the world through new eyes.

Tear-worn, world-weary, and heartbroken,

Yet determined to endure.

.

Every month he does uproot,

Exploring a previously undiscovered route.

Inquires around about work to do.

This is just how he’s coping and making it through.

No nefarious motives or vices at play.

.

He’s suffered the most horrendous of losses.

No one sees his invisible crosses.

His to bear, his to heft.

Just give him space,

His dignity is all that he has left.

Do not mistake his quiet, weary demeanor for someone guilty of theft.

The truth is he is quite utterly bereft.

. . .

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This poem was originally published on Medium.