Salvation Army Kiosk
by Chris Sorrenti
A bag of clothes sits waiting in a chair
By the front door
Destined for the Salvation Army kiosk
At the local plaza
Shirts and pants still in good condition
Either no longer my style
Or too tight in the waist
I think of all the people I’ve met
Things I’ve done
While wearing them
The lives I’ve influenced
Possibly even changed
And as a result
How those shirts and pants changed me
But most of all
I think of the many like me
Who’ll be dropping off clothes today
To the Salvation Army kiosk
Wondering who will end up wearing them
And of the lives they could still influence
620 hits as of February 2020
Author's Note: A year or so after I wrote this, the Salvation Army dismantled all the kiosks across the city, after several had been torched by one or more arsonists, who I believe were never caught. Another sad reminder of the times we live in. With a phone call, the SA will however still come and pick up bags of clothes from one’s front door.
Posted on 09/15/2013
Copyright © 2020 Chris Sorrenti
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Shannon McEwen on 09/15/13 at 06:55 PM|
love this, I`m actually looking at my bag of donations right now.
Not sure if it is deliberate, in S1 you wrote waste, not waist:)
|Posted by Kris Mara on 09/16/13 at 12:28 AM|
I think there's a movie in there...the lives of not only the people in the clothes and the lives they touch, but the lifespan of the clothes themselves, moving through each wearer's life...interesting perspective...makes me think of how I get so sentimentally attached to certain items of clothing -- seems silly, but maybe not so silly after all. You've always had a way with words that gets into your reader -- great storytelling, great sentiment expressed with honesty.
...and truly a sad note at the end...
|Posted by Linda Fuller on 09/26/13 at 08:37 PM|
They say, or used to anyway, that clothes make the man. From an early age I developed emotional attachments to clothing, as well as to other inanimate objects. Recently, divesting myself of years of accumulation has become easier, and it is interesting to imagine these items in others' possession - will they derive the same pleasure as did I? I like your poem very much.