The Bell Ringer

He rang the Christmas bell at the corner
A rhythmic
Raising and lowering of an arm.
Merry Christmas, he said
Unenthusiastically.
Shoppers tossed coins
A buck or two
All day and into early dusk.
He was always there.

One snowy mid-afternoon
I tossed some change in his red kettle
And offered him a hot chocolate
From a gourmet shop in the mall.
He smiled, sat the brass bell on the concrete
And took the cup with both hands.
I noted the thin, thready veins
Below his skin.

He drank the cup slowly

Savoring each sip
Then lit a cigarette
Saying he needed to
Quit these ‘ol cancer sticks.

We leaned against the wall awhile.

He said his wife passed last summer
And he Sorta gave up.
He coughed into a tissue
And when he lowered his hand
I saw specks of blood on the paper.

I asked about his kids.

All grown, he said.
Grown and gone.
Ain’t heard a word from either of ‘em.

He talked about needing brakes

On his old truck.
Maybe when I get 'em, I’ll clear outta here.
No weather for old men like me
He said.
I nodded, knowing he’d never go.

Draining the last of the chocolate

He thanked me
And retrieved his little brass bell.

Merry Christmas

He said
While the snow fell
And nickels, dimes and quarters
Tinkled in his red kettle.