Now it begins- napowrimo.
Day 1
No Chicken
You sit,
Hunched over,
on the cold pavement,
a colourful sleeping bag
pulled up under your chin,
It seems futile against
this crisp March morning,
Strategically,
carefully, you've chosen
your place,
next to the steps
that lead
that lead
to the the doors
of the St Benedict's Church.
You reach out to me,
hands gnarled, greasy,
gritted with the road,
Your eyes search me,
Your eyes search me,
hopefully,
find their way to a corner
of my soul
"Are you hungry?
Can I get you a sandwich?"
"Yes, thanks..."
Is that an Albanian accent?
"What kind would you like?"
Can I get you a sandwich?"
"Yes, thanks..."
Is that an Albanian accent?
"What kind would you like?"
I leave you that dignity,
won't presume to choose.
"Chicken please..."
"No chicken left,
what about
ham and cheese?"
"That's fine, Thank you"
polite, refined,
ham and cheese?"
"That's fine, Thank you"
polite, refined,
what brought you here?
You take my hand.
I wish I could take you home.
I find myself sitting beside you,
we talk for a bit,
I leave
to go back to my,
centrally heated house
Contrasts - scary in the 21st century!
ReplyDeleteYes, scary, but true. So many suffering and most of us just walk by.
DeleteNational Poetry Writing Month...
ReplyDeleteI had to look that up!
The poem is stirring. It seemed out of place in our modern world, but I suppose it is not.
Not out of place. We don't look after the needy as much as we should.
DeleteOh, how hard it is, at the end of a day serving the homeless, to simply go home.
ReplyDeleteYes, hard to go home.
Delete