Saturday, August 8, 2015




The hitch-hiker I
remember best
was someone you
might call a hobo.

Lord knows what he'd
been through, to receive
a gift that some folks get
who've borne so much.

He traveled light.
He owned a little pack,
a little dog;
that's all.

I drove for fifty miles
before he turned
his head to me
and said,

“I think
I'll get out here.

I like the way
the grass looks,
way up
on that hill.
The way the light
falls on it.”

Max Reif

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