Jim Daniels
October 2002

Econo


I was wandering San Marcos, Texas
on a Sunday morning. Unshaven
and unshowered, wet with the sudden
storm. A man in a camouflage jacket
trudging toward me across the street—
no sidewalks, only rubble and ditches—
called above the rain. His hair
was my hair, stringy and wild.
His stubble, my stubble. I shook my head
and he called to me again. Should I speed
up? Hurry away? He crossed the street
and I waited. Do you know if there's
a Salvation Army around here? He asked.
I said No, I'm not from here, and that
was true. I think all the homeless in America
wear camouflage. He thought I was one
like him. I had a hotel room to return to
just around the corner. Hot shower,
and it'd feel good. He was headed
toward town, and I wish him
luck. I have a credit card. More
than one. It's not a very good tool
for digging. You have to have one
to do anything these days.
The Salvation Army. Lord.

I shaved and combed my hair.
I put on dry clothes. I am not from
around here. The rain's pounding
now, bouncing up off cement.
I am staying at an Econo Lodge.
Free coffee and donuts in the morning.
I probably didn't earn that crack
about camouflage. I'd be needing to help
a lot more people to get away with that.
My jacket is blue with a green fleece liner.
I don't know where to go with this
because I did not follow him
down the road.

Heart, Spring 2001.