Reflections on the Homeless

As temperatures drop, our homeless visitors flock into the library to warm up, catch stolen moments of sleep, and, upon occasion, read. The unrelenting predictability of their daily onslaught can be alternately maddening and guilt-producing; they are like that black sheep uncle who keeps showing up plastered at your family Christmas party year after year, despite the cool reception he always receives. You are dismayed that he has once again shown up on your doorstep, but he is, after all, your uncle.

Thinking about the homeless prompted me to write a poem --

TRASH BAG QUEEN

Last week I paused after lunch
to watch the trash bag queen challenge god
from the mean tar corner of Fifth and Jackson.

Her lurching sermon drew a flinch-eyed crowd
close enough to smell her dance
of wet cigarettes and focused distraction,
juju eyes burning like weeds
beneath sticky hair
that strained toward heaven
with the bent plea of a lost child seeking jesus.

I left when it started to rain --
I thought she might draw lightning.