After yet another <br />rejection letter <br />I needed the Pier <br />in Coney Island <br />and went <br />and wandered to the end <br />where I spotted Volck. <br />“Ever get depressed? ” I blurted out. <br />“At times.” <br />“How’d you get out of it? ” <br />“You got to know life.” <br />Then Volck began walking <br />but so quickly <br />I could not keep up with him <br />as he seemed to float <br />along the wooden slates <br />finally he slowed and asked <br />a cop if he had a dime <br />for a phone call <br />because he might need it later. <br />Volck then loped to a pretty girl <br />who carried a cardboard box <br />and asked her <br />if he could have it. <br /> “No.” <br />Next he asked <br />a tall thin fellow <br />if he could have a stogie. <br />The man shook his head. <br />Volck said, “Well, you know, <br />these things cost money.” <br />When we reached <br />Stillwell Avenue we left <br />the boardwalk <br />and headed to Surf Avenue <br />where Volck asked people for money. <br />“If you want anything, ” I said to him, <br />“I’ll give it to you.” <br />He must have been drinking <br />before I met him <br />because now he could hardly stand <br />a moment later <br />sitting on the curb <br />then flat on his back <br />unperturbed. <br />I dared <br />not disturb <br />the unique <br />serenity of <br />Volck’s life.<br /><br />Charles Chaim Wax<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/at-the-summit/
