works by william pham, 2005-present
At the Corner of Polk and Clay Have you seen the homeless man Who sits at the corner of Polk and Clay? He holds a sign asking for spare change, And next to him a large, smooth-furred Labrador mutt sleeps like a pile of wheat. The man's face, unshaved and dirty, elicits No outstretched hands with coins stacked neatly, Divided into nickels, dimes, and quarters; His face has no value for hands who Count out nickels, dimes, and quarters. "Get a fucking job!" they shout, we may shout, Or think quietly to ourselves as we walk Hurriedly past with clenched hands as if We all really, really need to take a piss. But then the wheat rustles, and the wheat Opens its dark, wet eyes, and we see More humanity in a Labrador mutt than In the ageless, faceless, homeless man. We count out nickels, dimes, and quarters For wheat with eyes, and sometime past Three in the morning the homeless man Stands up, walks the dog down the street, And checks his ATM balance. He counts ones, fives, and twenties while We count nickels, dimes, and quarters.
copyright (c) 2006 by william pham