Floyd

Sitting on a bench in Centennial Park
a small stream of water whistles near
right out to the bay
tiny wavelets on the rocky shore.

I could smell, see
only peace
contentment
quiet this morning.

“Hi,” a dirty hand appears
inches from my nose.
I look up into blue eyes that
challenge until the hand is shaken.

“I walked a long way.
Orillia by Rama, to Toronto," he says
"And then back here.
I walked that whole way,” he says

“I’m Floyd by the way,
and who are you?," he asks
“I used to sell stoves and appliances
That was the last job I had,” he says

“I have a degree you know.
Finance. I have a Masters actually,” he says
“I graduated, you know.
Magna Cum Laude,” he says

“And after grad I worked at a bank,
for Royal, actually.” he says
“For twenty years.
Then they told me to take a hike.” He says.

“I got another job
But things got bad," he says
"And they told me to take a hike.
So I did,” he says.

In an hour he’s gone.
I stretch and sigh,
reaching for relief
that doesn't come.

As he shambles off,
his back moves from side to side
in rhythm
with his arms and legs.