Markings In The Dust
by Raul G. Moldez

Nothing provides him shade. So
the scorching heat of April sun
tans his skins he looks like
a dressed life-size bronze statue.
Sweat marinates his body
and soaks his red t-shirt.

He smells of the sun.
At the roadside,
getting dustier each day
due to the absence of rain,
he peddles Sweepstakes tickets.
Leaning against the concrete fence

of the school run by nuns,
he repeatedly announces
that the draw will be on Sunday,
as if reciting a litany of praise.
But it seems his voice
is just a whisper no passersby

dares looking at him.
The booklet is still intact.
At late afternoon,
his foot trembles, his leg hardens
due to the pressure of his weight.
It’s good enough the two shafts

suspended under his armpits
are made of hardwood.
By sunset, he goes home
leaving in the dust
a single trace of slipper mark
and a hole on each side.

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