|
010. Adams/Wabash
by John HerzogI thought I saw you
father
hunched below the Adams/Wabash
wrought iron canopy
looking for spare change
for someone who might listen
like how I saw you when I was nine
you stumbled into the shelter
and I ladled slop onto your tray
and that's all I had to give you
besides an uncertain hug
the last hug I ever gave you
before the years caught up with you
and tore your dandelion off its stem
and I could hardly bear to look you in the eye
but now I see you every street corner
beneath tattered blankets collecting snow
eyes frozen like Lake Michigan
face like the sidewalks you call home
tell me
do you count the number that walk upon you
and leave your cracks to grow
am I but one more
refusing to look you in the eye
and admit
I failed you
we all failed you
12/17/2017 Author's Note: CTA Adams/Wabash station.
Posted on 12/18/2017
Copyright © 2024 John Herzog
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 12/20/17 at 01:34 AM Powerfully heartbreaking poetic snapshot, John. Superbly expressed. Seems no matter where we go, at least in North America...Canada too, we see these unfortunates. Not just downtown, but in my own suburban neighborhood too now. |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 12/20/17 at 01:34 AM PS: Suggested for POTD.
|
|
