Never Pick Up Hitchhikers

Never pick up hitchhikers.

They always say that, don’t they?

But there was just something about this guy

Sitting under the bridge.

He was staring very far off into the distance,

With one hand on his hip,

And the other resting on a jacket

That lay folded there beside him.

I had noticed him,

As I stared,

Very far off into the distance,

About a mile before that overpass.

Something clicked in my head

As I craned,

And by the time I reached him,

My gut had locked,

And my brain didn’t have a chance.

I hit the breaks and swerved sharp

Onto the shoulder,

Threw open the door,

And said, “Get in!”

He wrinkled his brow and said,

“I’m just waitin’ on my ride ma’am.

I’m the foreman for this construction site over here,

And our investors want to show

Me a potential property.

I told ‘em just meet me here,

And walked down a minute ago.

But the short time I been sittin’ here,

Been long enough to see

The baser side of humanity,

Long enough to know what it is to

To be ignored, shunned,

And dirty looks cast my way.

I have always felt lonely, even in a crowd,

But today, I felt invisible, and insignificant.

So I really appreciate you stopping.

On one hand,

You kind of redeemed my hope for the species.

But ma’am,” he said, looking at me real hard,

“You should never pick up hitchhikers,

You know that, right?”

“Yes,” I said, staring very far off into the distance.

-jenn long