taking the cart back

the man
who collects
the runaway
carts, the ones
not taken back,
at the supermarket
has a thick
head of hair
and eyebrows
to match.
wild and brown.
as if never combed
or trimmed.
all day,
his face bruised
with the wind
and sun,
he moves
steel
cart after steel
cart, pushing,
pushing them back
out of the lot.
there is
someone inside his
bright blue
eyes, inside the quiet
of his sealed
mouth.
you don't
how he got
to where he is,
but you believe
that none of us are
that far removed
from doing
what he does.