‘Christmas Joseph’
A labourer of old working lore
like some suburban gypsy peasant
yet the human mask sagging a little
from the age of a hard physical life
I guessed of some southern european stock
like portugal rather than of greece
had turned up midday in front of my place after trawling down the road in the hot noon sun
the broken silver microwave oven
I asked him does he sell it on
“Yes but not for much. I make a little…”
He continued picking over what metal bits I had
I took out from the bottom of my council clean up pile
pieces of metal he would not have found
one man’s junk another man’s way of making a living
An old silver trestle he declined
He banged at some loose bit on the washing machine then lifted it like a giant so easily onto the back of the halftruck
A thin metal pole easily bent in half
I offered to place the yellow council sticker to something else after he had difficulty thinking of where to put it
after stripping it off the white washing machine
He turned to me before leaving
“Thank you.” A wise, belated smile
after his few minutes of visitation
Like some Joseph getting back to the manger
To prepare with what he could to that Flight to Egypt
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