Blind Man’s Truth
by Katie Litwin
Although he had no capacity to visualize the life outside of his black encasing
He still explored.
He smelt smoldering rubber,
Letting gasoline fumes linger in his lungs.
He inhaled the dust clouds
Breathed the intensity of paints
And became very familiar with harsh smells of decaying trash.
He heard jackhammers chisel into sandpaper pavement
He heard the demanding voices of clientele and “proper” businessmen.
He listened to the repetitive clicks of wrenches
Remembering the bittersweet symphony of bangs and clangs from a crane at work
And he searched for silence that never reached his innocent ears.
He felt the worry lines in the faces of those passing him in a hurry
He felt the grime on the bench where he sat observing
He patted the miniscule patch of grass that used to be his yard.
His Home.
Recalling his comfort that had faded in the transition
Of a remodeling effort to design a corporate building
He tasted the frosty chunk remaining in his microwave dinner.
He distinguished between canned and fresh fruits
Remembering the sweetness of freshly picked berries from his mother’s garden.
He wrinkled his nose at the unwanted taste of fumes from a semi hurtling by the window.
And those nearby they pity his unfortunate fate
A poor man who has no ability to see the world around him.
But he like a statue sits with pride
For he no longer has the desire to see
What we have designed.
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