Night Stop

He has only his open hand and his
sweetly accusatory
Bless you
. We have only
to turn our heads and he's gone.

Who says we have
to offer a cloak to every
shivering soul on Solano?
A nip of remorse
is almost its own reward.

Inside, in the caustic light,
a push-broom relocates
the dust of day.
The checker scans us
with a sleepwalker's blinkered gaze.

There's a raw wind blowing
but you and I
will be home in no time
to naked comforts. We'll fall asleep
to the murmur of the fridge.

We walk out with summer,
bagged and paid for:
strawberries piled in plastic coffers,
raspberries, blueberries,
shade-grown Jamaican coffee,

not forgetting sunflower seeds
for our little sisters the sparrows
who are always hungry,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

[brclear]

(To return to the Spring 2012 Table of Contents, click here.)

 

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