standing
rucksack strapped
to your back
on a dry patch
of island
adrift amidst
a four-lane highway
in midwest USA...
I still think back
and wonder what you must've thought
--all the people buzzing by
in four-door sedans and minivans
while you stood
dressed in dusty boots
and your desert fatigues
in the high summer heat
holding a sign--
"HOMELESS", with the
only hand you had left...
While working in homeless shelters a few years' ago I came across many vets, mainly Falklands, who were pretty much thrown away, forgotten, once they did the job for the politicians. It won't change. Your poem evocatively sums this up by painting the experience of one. You really paint the picture.
Suki
elPintor
Fri 13th Jan 2017 18:29
Hi, Colin and David,
People are quite pitiful when they've no choice but to make their need so apparent. Though, I know that there isn't really much that separates anyone from the situation of estrangement from shelter. It is only a combination of circumstances, really--and it is only a fool that dismisses the role fortune plays in the procession of his life.
This man stands out after years because he happened to have his name sewn to his breast and was missing the better part of his forearm. I hope that someone looks out for him as it seems he did for others. Though, decency and true kindness shouldn't require qualification.
When I was 19, I moved from a very small rural town to, what was to me, a big city. I had never seen people living on the streets. People advise you not to give and come up with all sorts of reasons why they shouldn't feel any responsibility for another human's plight--but I never believed their reasons. Anyhow, I was walking downtown one day and a man the size of grizzly bear (and almost as hairy) approached me for a little cash. I couldn't have given him much being 19 and all, but he literally picked me up from the ground with this great hug and thanked me. I still think that, for all his size and strength, he must have been, in his mind, a very delicate man.
Thanks so much for such thoughtful comments.
elP
ps
The title was meant as a play on words with its many meanings...glad you picked up on that, Colin.
<Deleted User> (13762)
Fri 13th Jan 2017 08:29
I particularly like the use of 'strand' for the title btw? In Ireland the word is used for a beach but I am not aware of this usage in America. So I am guessing as in stranded? As on a desert island. Or a play on words with 'standing'. But then again this could be a part of this person's story, the tenuous 'strand' that connects together his life events. And going back to the beach I get D-Day and all those landings, a different kind of stranded for so many reasons. Whichever, it's brilliant and no doubt I have missed your true intention!. Col.
<Deleted User> (13762)
Fri 13th Jan 2017 08:17
Such a common and accepted sight on your side of the pond yet Vets are lauded and revered in equal measure. I am sure you saw first hand this one particular person but as poets are we as a mob in general drawn to writing about homelessness in relation to something else? And I guess Vets will always come top of that list.
Yet I wonder about all the other lost souls on traffic islands and street corners who are at a further disadvantage for not having a back story other than their own incapacity to cope with life.
This is not a criticism of your excellent poem elP but the direction in which my thoughts were triggered. Much to think about and even more to be saddened by whichever way we look at it. Thanks for posting. Col.
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elPintor
Sat 14th Jan 2017 20:04
Hey, Suki,
It seems to me that, for all our advancement as a race, we've only come up with better ways to die. I mean, if our intelligence were measured by the sheer magnitude of complication we generate through selfishness and short-sightedness, we would be pretty fucking smart. I think a lot of people are a little too impressed with themselves. It really shows, too. I know this is way off subject, but while I'm here...it seems to me that people really don't want to know the truth about how the world works. How else does anybody inhabit a 3,000 square foot home that contains not a single book other than "The Little Mermaid" and a copy of fucking "People" magazine? People eat bullshit and spout bullshit because it makes them feel good.
I could go on, but I won't. As far as I'm concerned, everyone should have to put in a couple of years of service. It doesn't have to be the military but everyone should know what it's like to be in the service of his fellow man and to be a part of something bigger than himself. That way, we all have a stake in the decisions made by the powers that be, and we're all put on a level playing field, at least for a time.
Everyone needs to feel that they're still a part of humanity, especially when the going gets so rough that you can't even be sure where you'll sleep next. It must've been a very fulfilling job, if not so hard to see people in such pressing need.
Thanks for speaking up, Suki.
elP