On the side of the highway
he was abandoned at fourteen
At school they called him simple
At home, useless
He had been kicked out of his parents car
He would have to make his own way from here
He walked up the steep slope beside the highway
the slippery grass did not hinder him
He reached the narrow stretch at the top of the slope
Along the wooden fence separating the houses from the highway
He collects fruit that had fallen down on the highway side
just enough for a days sustenance
He wandered on not soiled yet, not dirty
But abandoned, with tragedy gripping the rails
Down the line of fate's indifferent tracks
He would become another homeless collector
of inevitable misfortune
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