he’s collapsed at the top
of the steps I am climbing
flopped like a fish on a dock
not pretty
not a good smell
not a good look
rough
lured by concern
while simultaneously repulsed
I drew slightly near
was he breathing
eyes barely open, protesting the bright sun
he groaned
got any money
no sorry I don’t
I hurried away
so easily rationalized
I’m not fishing for money in my purse right
on a street in the midst of everyone
I’m not taking that bait
then
doubt
should I have?
do I have any cash on me
I would never miss the money
let’s be serious
it wasn’t about my purse
I instantaneously shut him down
cast him off
tossed empathy aside
reeled in
judgment
as if
I know his needs better than he does
I am blessed to know
how he swims
who am I?
what if the next dollar he gets is his way
out of this insufferable tangled net he is trapped within
what if he was laying there
dreaming of release
kale spinach onions potatoes radishes
bag ‘em
head back to the steps
he is standing now
our eyes meet
he says
you have beautiful hair
 |
Thank you for sharing your poetry today!
ReplyDeleteI wanted to read this because I've been so in the mood to go to the Farmers Market... and now having read it, I am startled by the raw truth in this. I too have decided NOT to give before, and it always haunts me. Thank you for sharing this.
ReplyDeleteMaureen,
ReplyDeleteI’m so late to comment on your beautiful poem. I read it last Tuesday and searched for words. Nothing seems sufficient. That last line is a gut punch, an unexpected kindness after he experienced rejection. What you describe here is common: a desire to help intertwined w/ not wanting to be gullible. I’ve been trying to care less about playing the fool in these situations and to trust a desire to be kind.
—Glenda