Prayer Wheel

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Prayer Wheel
Stopped at the intersection, I see a homeless
man push a shopping cart overloaded
with the junk that he loves—that he needs
for reasons that nobody else would understand.
He struggles because one of the cart’s wheels
is wonky. It seems that half of the world’s
shopping carts are wonky. But there’s far more
at stake for this homeless man. His cart
contains more than just this week’s groceries.
His cart is a Bag of Holding—an extradimensional
space that holds a lifetime of sorrow. We all
carry a Bag of Holding, of course, but each of us
carries a different kind of weight. The homeless
man pushes his cart over the sidewalk cracked
by tree roots. It’s a difficult path. I worry about
that wonky wheel and then, shit, it breaks
completely off the cart. That man tries to keep
everything upright but it’s all too heavy
and he isn’t Atlas. None of us is Atlas.
The cart tips over and hits the sidewalk.
That man’s possessions spill everywhere.
His clothes, cans, newspapers, cardboard
boxes, bottles, and dozens of metaphors
are let loose. The man curses and curses
and curses then grabs the empty cart by
the handle and swings it around. He spins
in a fast circle—damn, he’s surprisingly strong—
and then throws the cart farther down
the sidewalk. It bounces once, twice, three
times before it skids to a halt. The man
screams. No curse words this time. No words
at all. Just the sound of rage. I feel the urge
to step out of my car and help him gather
his belongings. But I’m afraid of his pain.
I’m afraid of his anger. I’m afraid of what
dangerous things that he might have collected.
There might be used hypodermic needles
or traces of opiates that could harm me.
What can I do? What can I do? The man
continues to scream. I silently apologize
to him though I know that my apology
is just broke—another broke—broken prayer
wheel. Sometimes, our blessings and sins
just spin and spin. Then the traffic light turns
green so I sigh, step on the gas, and drive away.