On a wrong way street
Old Victorian clock---time ticks...
Victor---but you may know him as the watchman.
Icon in this social mosaic
People laugh---maybe curious---more afraid...
Well, not now---we will miss you...
Yeah, as if you really cared?
Everybody has their story to tell.
Hey, brotha! Can you spare some change?
Grandma Gypsy's photo gallery
Smoking, shootin' pool, 22's in the alley
Transfer pass---when's the next bus?
I think that was the last
Neon signs---a lot less traffic
Why does it cost just as much to use a payphone
as it does to ride a bus?
Poem author: Jamis Roose©2012
Published in a book by students of
Evergreen State College:
"Telling Our Stories: Voices of Grays Harbor"
Thank you, Jamis, for allowing me to use your poem...Wren.
(Victor Grant Salem was born in Newark, New Jersey in 1953.
Legend has it, he was a diver and lost air in a diving incident,
leaving him with some mental disabilites. Victor was dropped off
on the streets of Aberdeen, Washinton sometime in the mid 1980's.
He could often be seen walking the streets, wearing sunglasses
and pulling a suitcase along. He would compulsively check his watch...
thus the nickname "The Watchman".
Rest in peace, Watchman, and know that you are missed.)
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"His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me."