At The Summit Poem by Charles Chaim Wax

After yet another
rejection letter
I needed the Pier
in Coney Island
and went
and wandered to the end
where I spotted Volck.
“Ever get depressed? ” I blurted out.
“At times.”
“How’d you get out of it? ”
“You got to know life.”
Then Volck began walking
but so quickly
I could not keep up with him
as he seemed to float
along the wooden slates
finally he slowed and asked
a cop if he had a dime
for a phone call
because he might need it later.
Volck then loped to a pretty girl
who carried a cardboard box
and asked her
if he could have it.
“No.”
Next he asked
a tall thin fellow
if he could have a stogie.
The man shook his head.
Volck said, “Well, you know,
these things cost money.”
When we reached
Stillwell Avenue we left
the boardwalk
and headed to Surf Avenue
where Volck asked people for money.
“If you want anything, ” I said to him,
“I’ll give it to you.”
He must have been drinking
before I met him
because now he could hardly stand
a moment later
sitting on the curb
then flat on his back
unperturbed.
I dared
not disturb
the unique
serenity of
Volck’s life.