The Watermelon Man (A poem about missed opportunities) by: Ryder Cassond

She fills her briefcase with evening stresses
Her freshly washed and golden hair
Elegant watch and wrinkle free dresses
Eyeliner and blush to give that desired flair
She has not met the watermelon man

She sits in her Porsche on the third garage floor
Sobbing while removing her two hundred dollar heels
Wiping away smeared cover up as she shuts the door
Her outward elegance in contrast with how she feels
She has not met the watermelon man

The long drive home has been made a thousand times
Same trees and lights and stores
The same old beggar asking for dimes
In shame she glances at the floor
She has not met the watermelon man

The rural landscape fills her window
And the terrible city fades away
Her sadness reaches its crescendo
As she drives home on this fourteenth day of May
And up ahead sits the watermelon man

He fills his stand with fresh green fruits
Wind blowing his dirty and unwashed curls
Stained shirt, torn pants, and holes in his boots
His wrinkled face portrays his hurdles
This is the watermelon man

He sits on his chair with a burning cigarette
A quiet happiness in his soul
A smile from early morning till sunset
Every ounce of his life calmly under control
This is the watermelon man

And he often gives his fruit for free
His profits never of major concern
For if you sit and hear his philosophy
Your life is likely to take a turn
This is the watermelon man

And on this fourteenth day of May
If this lady would only stop to buy
She’d hear what the watermelon man has to say
And never again would she cry

But she continues on past his stand
For she feels no wrinkled man could fix her
A tear filled tissue in her hand
Her thoughts on death and liquor
And behind her now is the watermelon man
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