I get the call –
you’re in trouble again,
and you need a favor,
the monetary kind.

No phone, no car, no job,
no electric, almost –
that’s what you say it’s for,
the past-due bill..
I have no way to tell
whether this money will go
through wires, or veins.

You are near tears, desperate,
almost incoherent,
so again I go on a fool’s
errand of mercy,
to a neighborhood of plywood windows
where the industries of the street
are drugs and basketball,
houses full of poor choices
or no choice at all.

Your front door has no lock,
or even a doorknob
because there’s nothing left to steal,
not even self-respect.
I am heartsick
at how you got here
despite my attempts to counsel you.
I am ready to tell you,
This is it, don’t call me again,
till you straighten out your life.

You appear in a sundress and a smile –
You seem to have cleaned up your act
just for me, this afternoon.
You give me a tight hug of gratitude
and say you love me.

I get back in my car
and leave you to your life,
having said nothing
but “I love you, too.”

10/06/2001

Posted on 10/06/2001
Copyright © 2024 Bruce W Niedt