It’s true. I am a problematic person,
He thought as he put the lid
Back on the gas can.
Now he would have to walk back
To his car along the side of the road
In the dark.
He couldn’t see the cars as they
Came upon him. Just the flood of
The halogens as they washed the trees
In an iridescent light and then passed
Around a dark corner.
The crickets chimed
And the air swelled up around him.
I wonder if I’m invisible? He thought.
When he was young people noticed him
But as he got older it was different.
The sound of an engine got louder.
He turned around and waved his arm
At the approaching car.
The high beams burned his eyes and he
Felt ashamed and shabby.
He wanted to fade into the trees.
The car passed without slowing down
And music drifted out, the pitch growing
Dizzy as the tail lights faded.
Would anyone recognize him?
Maybe I’ll just blow away like my old man,
He thought.
The musty smell of the cottonwoods
Made him feel like a child again.
No one would recognize him.
Not even himself.