Napo 16

Today's prompt was to write a poem in praise of something else. It suggested that we use hyperbole, but I wanted to I suppose bring this a little bit down to earth, to the reality outside. Yesterday, I went grocery shopping here in McAllen. And goodness, those HEB employees are heroes. Or are they our society's sacrifices? Here, I compare him to David, fighting Goliath. No armor but a dirty bandanna. Not even a stone in hand to throw. And still, he goes out each day to try to save the world for strangers, and for a paycheck that will allow him to live another day.

Praise the Grocery Boy 

named David, working on a Sunday afternoon

in spring of 2020, the nimble way he handles

cans of beans and bags of rice for ladies

as his chest heaves, a kind of shield

against the coming darkness. Muscles ache

with toiling, feet sore with fear,  his teeth,

gritted, smile underneath his stained bandana,

a gift of beauty no one gets to see today—

the landscape of his mouth, the labyrinth

of fear and pride that snakes down his throat

and into his heart—so blessed to beat

Like the marching of a naïve soldier.

a surge of pride swells through that chest

as he offers to push the cart for the good lady

to her car, to load it for her, to carry her world

on his broad, sweaty shoulders. His cramped feet

inside his dirty sneakers throb. He’s been on them

for hours and hours and hours without a break,

but this is war. As they walk out into the springtime sun,

he keeps his distance from the woman,

six feet, hoping what heaves from his lungs

won’t heave into hers, that the bandanna

tied around his mouth and nose

is armor enough to keep them safe (it’s not).

He hoists the case of water to his shoulders,

carrying it like Atlas holds the world,

unloads it into the trunk of her BMW.

She thanks him, would slip him a quarter or two

if she didn’t have to touch his dirty hands.

And we delight in this scene, think of this young man,

His brown skin, his beating heart, as a kind of David,

Like the nametag clipped to his chest reveals,

And he’s holding but a stone against a Goliath

So massive it’s invisible to him, to her, to all of us.

He’s a hero, so we praise him as such,

Tuck a couple extra dollars into his pocket,

So he can live to fight another day,

carrying our worlds upon his sore shoulders.