A Beetle perched high on a tower
Stands watch over a junction
Where a man peddles wares to drivers
He looks hungry, dusty and exhausted
His clothes hang loosely
Not because of fashion 
Or some beach bod diet
And yet he smiles brightly

I wind the window down 
Say a quick hello while the light is red
I buy a bumper pack of tissues
Olive trees and allergies will blossom soon
I pay more than he asks
Much less than I should 

What drove him here
To flog wares at a road junction?
Whatever the reason
It's likely our fingerprints are on it

As I drive off I Iook ahead
The mountains pour from the hazy sky
Piebald as the remnants of snow
Retract their fingers from the valley
The ridge line smudged like wet ink

Anything but look in the rear view mirror