A man seen from my window
Hosing the sidewalk free of blood.
A smooth phone solicitation
From another seeking the code
To my wallet. Transplants newly arrived
Dismissing the effect of history
On the air we breathe. Others
Espousing a predatory imperative
That would label poverty a sin.
There was something else,
But for now I don’t know where it has gone.
I’m mostly indoors these days.
It’s where my life has taken me.
The drooping leaves of my spathiphyllum
A cry for help. Let me now tend to the needy.August 2004