The Shoe

Public Health Inspector

William Townsend, died 1968,

Black River, Jamaica

Townsend took a curve too fast

and died near the coast. Nobody heard

for hours. Every few minutes

I turned to the window and cursed him.

He won't come, I thought, the bastard won't.

The road from Magotty came up

a swath of banana trees battered by rain,

but the sick arrived anyway.

Glistening loudly, they filled the clinic.

We walked up and down to quiet their babies.

I was witless with anger.

Townsend had promised to come at noon

and take us away-we had such

important work to do. Americans!

Sister clicked her teeth at my arrogance.

At Townsend's funeral, his father

held up a shoe and cried, He walked

in the pathways of righteousness. I sat,

rod straight, on a folding chair

at the front of the church and didn't speak.

For isn't righteousness the brother

I never had? In Babylon,

years later, I listen for the sound

of Townsend's shoes. Playfully, he'll punch

my shoulder. I'll follow him anywhere.

• Copyright ©2004 by the American College of Physicians