10/25/2019 Elegy for Hustle-man by John Miller Tim Vrtiska CC Elegy for Hustle-man for James William Griffin There was no handshake, no, I’m James – folks call me Hustle-man. Bucket in-hand, you skipped all that, and car-washed your way to pocket-money. And hard as you worked, folks offered you jobs, even places to stay to get it together. But they never quite got you that you preferred sleeping rough, how you thrived on the hustle: scrounging and hauling your way to becoming a neighborhood fixture. And even though it’s been a couple years since the cops found you gunshot, I still hear you scold me every time I make a sandwich: Aw, come on, man, don’t scrimp on the mayo. I miss that voice, all the nights it crooned the Pointer Sisters’ “Fire” block by block. But the main thing, what I’ll never forget is what you taught me about dignity, James. Even when I blew you off, had nothing to haul, or didn’t buy your latest dumpster find, you’d refuse my apologies, silence me with a quick side-eye, and say: God never made anything sorry. ![]() Hailing from Eugene Walter's Kingdom of Monkeys, John Miller was sent so frequently to look up words during supper, he toted a dictionary to the table. Paper Nautilus Press published his chapbook, _Heat Lightning_ in 2017. A Pushcart nominee, Miller’s poetry has appeared in Rockvale Review, Kindred, Lahar Berlin, and elsewhere.
Georgia B Dominick
11/12/2019 04:49:55 am
WOW! This is wonderful, John. You need to publish another book - soon. Get to writing!! Comments are closed.
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