Mezzacello is an urban farm. We are surrounded by homes and businesses and cars. There are also a lot of transients in my neighborhood on the near East side of Columbus. It’s a fact of life. It’s still jarring when you come upon sights like this. One glove, a set of ear buds and an iPhone 7+ headphone jack dongle, a snap adapter for a water hose, and an unbroken set of attached chopsticks.
The mind boggles to consider what these four things share in common. I’m pretty sure I dropped the hose snap adapter last fall, and I am also pretty sure the earbuds and adapter belong to Rick. But the glove and chopsticks? I know we have night visitors. I find the beer cans and their cigarette butts and crushed boxes as well as other hints to their crushed hopes and dreams. But this is largely isolated to the warmer months. When this human or humans dropped their chopsticks or gloves, did they not see the earbuds? What made them just leave all of this there? There is great literature waiting to be created to explain this story. But for now, the farm needs tended. Chores!
Tonight perhaps I’ll write a Steinbeck-themed poem to this night mysteries. I shall call it “The Drops of Drifters”.