Step thru the King of Clubs
and out into the cold cobbled street.
The air smells of exhaust, tobacco,
and industry. The buildings stand
close as gossps. Do not bother
searching your pockets for money.
You won't find any. The sun spins
like a gilder's wheel. Your mind
is a room unfurnished with names.
Here you are no more than a leaf
gambled by the wind.
.
It's Phil!
Posted by: Meg | January 04, 2012 at 10:07 AM
Phil?
More info, please.
His face has the character of a mountainside.
What's his story?
Posted by: Charlie | January 04, 2012 at 07:06 PM
I don't know much of his story, but he is part of the community at the church I work at. He comes to our soup kitchen every week, attends nearly every mass that we hold, comes to every coffee hour, potluck supper, etc. Some of the other homeless people call him Moses, but someone, somehow heard that his name was Phil. Whether it really is or not, he responds to that name and communicates (non-verbally)with those that he seems to have grown to trust in the community. He has never spoken in front of me--or to my knowledge, anyone who works around him or serves him. Sometimes we see him reading the New York Times. I'm not there as late at night as I used to be, but it seemed that he used to (and may still) live in our garden. I know that we've shooed away other people from the garden who have been aggressive towards him. He is very quiet and gentle, and has occasionally gotten some flak from some of the less reserved/stable homeless people. We're all as protective of him as one can be from such a distance, and must not be the only ones, because I often see him in the mornings with a cup of coffee and something small to eat in Starbucks.
Posted by: Meg | January 05, 2012 at 08:20 AM
Wow. Thank you, Meg. And thanks for looking out for him.
Posted by: Charlie | January 07, 2012 at 10:10 AM