A month of storms - april 10 2006
Going out with my lady
Exploring our new neighborhood
We just escaped from San Francisco rents
And it’s good to be back in the east bay
Under blue skies
On a day without rain
In a month of storms
Guard dog in the used car lot
see us walking by and
runs over to the fence
Doesn’t bark, has his tail between its legs
And whines for us to come over
Dog eyes tell me plain as words
He’s lonely
doesn’t get enough to eat, ribs are showing
Dirty greasy fur. Neglected. Beaten
Crying for love
Pet him through the bars of the fence and he
Does it’s best to nuzzle my hand
Through solid steel
And I wonder if This is man’s best friend
How does man treat his enemies?
But I can’t fix it
And I can’t take him home with me
So I pat his head one last time and keep walking
Walking home after dinner
Admiring the city lights
Laughing aout random trivialities
Nothing important
when a frail, tired voice from the shadow says
Please, can you help?
Anything helps
And his hand extends a copy of street spirit
He is: tired old man
Should be resting in front of his fireplace
with his grandchildren
Instead he’s
Begging for scraps from passers by
Trying desperately to stay alive
I stop and open my wallet,
hand him a dollar it’s
not much but I know that
if I gave a dollar to every homeless person
I would soon be homeless myself
he thanks me and points to the headline
says this is last months paper but
it’s very important, please read it
his voice filled with sorrow like
no one should ever have to carry
it’s an article about a recent string of
brutal murders
mostly elderly & frail homeless people
the kind that the channel seven news,
with all it’s sensationalist violence
never bothers to report on
and my stomach knots up so tight I have to stop walking
and I feel my eyes fill with tears because
there’s so little I can do
and somebody has to do something
gods only know what
all I know is,
every time I pass by
someone who needs my help
and don’t help them
I can feel myself die a little inside
A part of my humanity torn away
And my soul left as brutalized as
The old woman in the article
Who was beaten to death by
A group of young men about my age
Looking for “something to do”
And I don’t know how humans can
live in a world like this
A society like this
An economy like this
Where survival means
Denying our own humanity
And not go as crazy as I feel right now
Sitting on a fire hydrant on the street corner
Choked with rage and sorrow
and eyes streaming tears
And in some perfect world
I, and the old man, and the dog
all get to go home to someplace warm
with people who love us and
sleep peaceful dreams
on full bellies
but this is no perfect world
and I am the only one who gets to go home
someplace warm with
someone who loves me but
I cannot sleep
I cannot bear the dreams that come
Reminding me of
Those I’ve left outside in the cold
I walk the blocks back to where
he still stands waiting and
Give him more then I can afford to give
Knowing I cannot afford not too
one absurdly small drop in
a very big bucket
He thanks me and gives me a hug
And I know that for him at least
A drop can make a difference
As I go home and wait
For the storms that must surely come