BROOM MAN

Dying Regime / Flickr

The broom man
sweeps up each day
in front of the library—
dreams, hopes, brushed together
with leaves and candy wrappers.
Carrying his broom like a scabbard,
he is a guard at the entrance
of some dark journey.

At night
he sleeps
curled around it on the pavement,
as if it were his wife.

When the sun rises,
he stands up
adjusts his baggy clothes,
begins his ritual again,
sweeping,
sweeping,
first near the door,
the book drop,
then out
to the gutter.
His work is never done.

Today
I passed him
and heard a woman
speak to him,
almost with respect
in her voice.

Doubled over the broom,
he suddenly looked up,
and
a glow seemed to surround
this brown broom man.
And in a shaft of light
I thought I saw him
mount the broom
as if it were a steed,
and rise above
the dirt,
the concrete,
his city of broken glass.

• Bio
• Latest Posts

Karen Kenyon

Karen Kenyon is the author of Sunshower (a memoir), G.P. Putnam’s Sons, NY; The Brontë Family/Passionate Literary Geniuses, Lerner Publications, Minn. and Endeavor Media, London; and Charles Dickens/Compassion and Contradiction, Endeavor Media, London. She has features published in Newsweek; British Heritage; The Christian Science Monitor; and other publications. Her poetry has been in small journals, The Christian Science Monitor, and San Diego Free Press. She currently teaches for UCSD-X; SDSU’s Osher program; and SD Writers Ink.

Latest posts by Karen Kenyon (see all)

• ‘Seize the King’ at La Jolla Playhouse: Self-Righteousness, Greed and Lust for Power - September 12, 2018
• Our Fathers - June 16, 2018
• ‘Community Hero’ Attorney Steve Binder and San Diego’s Homeless Court Program - April 18, 2018