America

San Francisco by Sara Fryd

He spits in his rag, washes my car window

A sign of the times

What sign is that, I ask myself?

That America is in trouble?

That our veterans have no place to live?

That a roof over one’s head is not a necessity

For a Marine?

Who fought for our security and more?  Who now

Sleeps on the ground next to his wheel chair.

Since he has no other place to sleep

Except the grass beneath his sleeping bag.

Roll up a $20 bill and gently place it in his palm

His fingers close around it.

His eyes remain closed, his breathing slows.

I turn my eyes to the cerulean sky recalling

I have no job, nor means of support…

Still…

I have $20, a roof over my head, food in my fridge

And there but for the grace of God…

Go I…

 

All rights reserved.  ©2009 by Sara Fryd

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9 thoughts on “America

  1. Such a lot to think about as we meet or pass one another each day. In this one the poet lifts into our view the complexity of coming to this moment and wondering about the back-story of them, us, and me. Like the way “sign of times” opens one to thought.

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