Rolling his cart past the blocks
Dressed out of style
From years gone past

He once rode his bike past the chain-link
That guarded young minds from the world
Playing in grass long brown

Intellectual he once was called
And to college he almost went
Paternal influence grounded his mind

A job milling wood
Full of noise, he lost his ears
Lungs filled up with cancer

The boom moved on
The trade elapsed
Now the town just sits and waits

His life just rolls by
Squeaky wheel and all
Stuck on the curb

His days now spent calculating birds
Or falling rain upon his unclothed head
Cold, bitter mathematics

Relenting nothing
Asking all
He pushes on