My friend, Jim, died this week. Now he is at peace. No more walking. No more angst. No more shame. No more fear. No more hunger--for love, food, warmth, attention, care, family, companionship... He was a poor soul.
...You are the God of the lowly, the helper of the oppressed, the supporter of the weak, the protector of the forsaken, the savior of those without hope. Judith 9:11
Sometimes I see him in the Common.
Sometimes he appears on the "T."
It's Jim, the Suitcase man.
My friend who thinks I'm an angel.
He's walked the day; God knows where!
Traveling for hope, looking for love.
He's talking to invisible people.
But they're nicer than most.
Head down, one foot in front of the other.
Plod, plod, plod along, my friend.
* from Justitia, Poetry from the Second Annual OPrize for Poetry, ed. Robert Curtis, School Boy Press, 2006, p. 21.
...You are the God of the lowly, the helper of the oppressed, the supporter of the weak, the protector of the forsaken, the savior of those without hope. Judith 9:11
Sometimes I see him in the Common.
Sometimes he appears on the "T."
It's Jim, the Suitcase man.
My friend who thinks I'm an angel.He's walked the day; God knows where!
Traveling for hope, looking for love.
He's talking to invisible people.
But they're nicer than most.
Head down, one foot in front of the other.
Plod, plod, plod along, my friend.
* from Justitia, Poetry from the Second Annual OPrize for Poetry, ed. Robert Curtis, School Boy Press, 2006, p. 21.
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