(C) 2003
I am already off-kilter—
the divorce,
my roommate, getting married, asking me to move out—
the ludicrous dates,
one ending in assault—
work and school overextended,
dental bills mounting,
debt—
I think I’ve had enough—
then today
my unemployed, brooding, eighteen-year-old
tells me she is pregnant.
This is not the straw that will break me.
Walking downtown—through Pike Place,
the smell of piss and rot
reminds me
that bottom is still a long way off.
I give spare change to a man
who smells like six beers too many.
He asks how I’m doing.
I say my day’s been crappy—
then hear it.
He could tell me to fuck off
or grow up—
but instead
he slaps my shoulder, says
remember—God made us
to be gods.
He hits the other side,
just in case I’m not listening.
You got to focus on the good.
You got to insist they respect you.
He shoves me sideways—
hold your space, he says—
they gonna take, take, take.
Hell, my “they” is me.
Instead of a few quarters,
I give him a twenty—
it isn’t as much as he gave me—
eye contact,
encouragement—
some strange grace.
