Anything Helps
He stood in the deserted island
formed at the intersection
of Kolb and 22nd Street.
Sleepy-eyed commuters
glanced
at his cardboard declarations:
Poem
Free
He clutched
sheets of white paper
flapping like seagull wings
on the stirred currents
of whizzing cars.
The light turned
the color of autumn leaves.
Cars slowed and rested.
Windows slid down.
Elbows protruded.
Voices sang out.
“Any of those
old-school
rhymes today?”
“Hey, man.
Make me giggle.
Need one
terrible like.”
“Loved yesterday’s.
Read it to my kids
at the dinner table.”
“Touch my heart, Poet.
It’s hurtin’
bad sore.”
“I got a feeling
you’re gonna
make me cry.”
He walked the line.
Handed ‘em out.
Touched skin.
Stretched his grin.
“Morning,” he said.
“Feelin’ good today?”
“Thinkin’ ‘bout yuh,”
he said.
“Hope this helps,”
he said.
The light changed color,
golf course green.
Traffic edged away,
a soothed tide
going out.
Some waved
the words
out the window
in a nice,
see yuh later kinda way—
and his ribs ached
from the banging
goin’ on inside.
from the Childhood Remedy and Other Such collection
. . . j
j's blog 