The Rain Man - by Andrew Nelson He stands in the rain, waiting patiently Beads of rainwater coursing down over his furrowed brow Only to drip contemptuously from the chiseled edges that define his face A street lamp above him refracts each droplet as it falls, creating with it a golden aura That casts its somber light across his considered pose Projecting a dampened yet shimmering reflection of him onto a nearby puddle The gentle patter of raindrops offers a soothing tone To an otherwise silent night Only punctuated occasionally by a croaking frog chorusing from the street drain below his feet A complex man he is, although he is dressed in simple, unassuming attire His Trilby cap and his trench-coat reveal little as to his vocation And the briefcase he holds is equally non-descript He holds no fame nor fortune, and he lays no claim to noble heritage An academic, politician, or philanthropist he is not The notable absence of a wristwatch and unpolished shoes is all that points to his societal class He receives little reward for his enduring hours of toil A meager wage, which barely covers his expenses and his bus ride home each day And yet he tightly embraces his employ as if it were his only child But what is it he is waiting so patiently for? As he stands unwavering in the deluge that falls around him His eyes appear transfixed on his reflection in the puddle by his feet A metaphor perhaps to how he sees his life; distorted and confused Perhaps he wonders who the man in the reflection really is Or perhaps he questions who he is One man in an ocean of helplessness and despair Who looks upon himself not with disdain, but with pride and purpose For he will not let this storm dampen his spirit and he will wait no more
Posted on: Sun, 16 Mar 2014 07:55:05 +0000
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