The Devil Resting on a Rock Near the Gas Station

My boss wanted me to move.
To move to a new city.
Pretty much the same job.
But a different city.
So we moved.

When you move.
You pick something up.
And you look at it.
And you have to decide.
Pack it or pitch it.

I might want to pack it.
I might want to pitch it.
So we pitched a lot.
And gave away a lot.
So we moved.

The new place was big.
But we had less stuff.
But this town is rich.
If you look around.
There is free stuff all over.

A chair by the dumpster.
A futon by the curb.
Adds in the classified.
Free or really cheap.
This is how you move.

Now this new place
Is by a gas station.
You know the kind.
They sell everything.
Chips, beer and blunts.

One day I walk over there.
Its only a short walk.
Right by the apartment on the end,
Sitting on a big gray rock,
Was a worn out guy.

His legs were crossed.
Gray polo shirt.
Black dress pants.
Cigarette held up in the air.
World weary baggy eyes.

I walked by him.
I nodded to him.
He nodded to me.
His eyes were red.
His eyes were empty.

He was gone when I came back.
But I would see him,
Maybe once a week
Right there on his gray rock
Taking a break.

The rocks around here,
They are mostly limestone.
With lots of underground springs.
Lots of cracks in the ground.
Holes that go way down.

I think this guy
Who sits on the gray rock
Works way down below.
And he comes up for a break
Just a short little break.

One time we spoke.
I said "It sure is hot"
And in a strange high pitched voice
He said " It sure is"
I never saw him again.

The lady at the gas station,
Thinks he smokes there,
Because he can't smoke in his house.
I did not tell her,
That I think he works way down below.