Lessons from a Paper Route

An old guy on the cross-town train sat next to me,

and after axle clacks of nothingness, pulled some

papers, folded in fours, from a pouch on the harness

of his German Shepherd, lying guard like most of us.

Then drumming his pen and making small marks,

mouthing reminders of clauses someone had typed,

he added two lines by hand and asked me to witness

that which he signed and dated by doing the same.

‘What is it?’ I knew without asking, yet leaned in to

hear what he’d call his last will. ‘My take on today

as it bears on tomorrow,’ and with that, he trundled

away, granting some privacy for how I’d comply.

‘Listen,’ I whispered without more to say, silently

seeking clues on the sheets—his loose-fitting suit,

his choice of seat if he planned to blow up the train—

‘I hesitate messing with fate,’ and signed anyway.

‘Thank you,’ he smiled, and blew on my autograph

before filing it safe with the dog. ‘Why put it there?’

‘His tag has my name.’ ‘Let’s say he dies first, do you

have the same?’ ‘I’ve never thought of it that way.’

We each raised our eyes to the blur of the station

that could finish this game, but mine was the next,

so at least I could gather more of his means to take

mortal stock and revise it this way. ‘Are you afraid?’

‘Not anymore’, patting the back of his Fido or Rex.

‘Are you?’ ‘Not on your life. I’ve clearly expressed

I don’t want—’ ‘—a mess?’ ‘Or something like that. I

rather want other things read.’ He giggled and said,

‘Life is a tale told by an idiot,’ ‘yes, yes, full of sound

and fury,’ ‘signifying a reason we cite it.’ ‘Meaning?’

‘You hardly know what’s composed in celestial news.’

‘Should I?’ ‘Maybe you were in it.’ ‘I’m there today.’

‘Your witness is, at least. Tomorrow, who’s to say?’

‘That idiot, all due respect: the teller of a hundred

thousand days which we inherit, live and inseminate,

passing in the aisles of countless trains.’ I stopped

for fear of arrogance, as much to hear the old guy

have the final say: ‘See you on the by-and-by. What

you’ve done today will resonate, regardless how I die,

’cuz you read in me a chance to not appear crazy.’