The Weight of Burden

I’m watching a man walking under the weight of burden
he is carrying sandbags, one in each hand
from experience I know how cumbersome, 40 to 70 pound a piece

the weight pulls his shoulders downward
chest leaning forward as if battling a fierce gale
each footstep as if pulling his legs from wet concrete

it's 85 degrees outside at the moment
the man's face ruddied by strain and heat
his exhaustion is obvious

he wears an expression of defeat
a look that says, "I cannot carry anymore"
but the task is not complete

I am tempted to help him
but he works for the Road Crew
I'm sure there are rules against such things, liability and all

in this moment I realize
his posture, his plight
something I recognize

I see it every day in humanity
though we carry no weight in our hands
the burden is ponderous in our soul

we are a slouching species
as if marching to Mordor
each step, a war within a war

I wonder how often upon seeing one laboring
am I tempted to turn away rather than toward
after all, I’m dragging my own millstone of misery

the man sits down on the curb
less exhausted than defeated
I walk over, give him a bottle of water

it's all I have in the moment
the only aide I can provide
he thanks me guzzles the contents in seconds

he smiles
"I really appreciate that
Back to work"

He returns to his task
dare I say with renewed energy
a little taller, a little more determined

And my thought
how little it takes to encourage
how easy to share the load

maybe a little less turning away
a little more turning toward
we are all walking under the weight of burden