Sisyphus
By Maxine Kumin
When I was young and full of shame
I knew a legless man who came
inside a little cart, inchmeal,
flatirons on his hands, downhill.
Under the railroad bridge his chant
singsonged all day repent, repent
for Jesus. On the way to school
I spoke to him to save my soul
and coming back, he made me stop
to count the nickels in his cap.
Eyes level with my petticoat
he whined to me. I smelled his goat-
smell, randy, thick, as brown as blood.
I did the only thing I could.
I wheeled my master up the hill.
I rolled him up as he sat still.
Up past the sisters of Saint Joe
I pushed my stone so God would know.
And he, who could not genuflect
on seamy stumps, stitched his respect
with fingers in the air. He called
me a perfect Christian child.
One day I said I was a Jew.
I wished I had. I wanted to.
The basket man is gone; the stone
I push uphill is all my own.
from SELECTED POEMS 1960-1990 by Maxine Kumin. Copyright © 1996 by Maxine Kumin.
Used by permission of W.W. Norton & Company, Inc.