Quitting,

frightens me

like a flat tire, on the side of a busy freeway

and no jack,

no air pump,

no cell phone,

no people skills

to get to where I need to go.

Everybody, I know

is in such a big hurry

to get to where they need to go

that they don’t notice my predicament

or care

and why should they?

The bum along the freeway

asks me

if I have a drink of water.

He’s dirty

with a full beard

like Robinson Crusoe.

It’s easy to see

he’s not like me.

There are holes in his shoes

He’s been cooked in the sun.

He mumbles to himself.

He learned his ABCs, in elementary school, just like me, didn’t he?

Now he’s stuck on the side of the road.

Is this how it starts, with no empathy?

I can take care of myself,

but I’ll have to walk