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.