Tuesday, January 30, 2018

Pay What You Can

Pay what you can
That's what the sign on the door read
He put in $5.00
The only thing he had in his pocket
If his wife were on his arm, she would have counciled against it
$5.00 for a talk by some priest
It wasn't her fault excitedly this lack of respect and trust in Catholic priests
She was raised in a Protestant church
What was done was done
The $5.00 went in the box and he took his seat
Warm faces greeted him
He shook clean hands as well as oil stained hands
The priest talked of love, trust,  forgiveness, and community
Words he needed to hear
He walked home to his wife and kids with the promise of a new job
If he had spent that money on beer, he would have walked home empty handed and drunk

Friday, January 12, 2018

Her Weapon

Street lights illuminated
Cold clings to your bones
The only ones outside those that have nowhere to go
Voices are heard above the wind
People wanting to make a quick buck
Others looking for shelter for the night
Some drunk are just angry at the world and the only way to release that pinned up rage is to fight
Up ahead, past George’s liquor store walks a lady
She’s old, frail
God bless you. God bless you
Her whispers are barely audible
Yet everyone knows what she said
She doesn’t stop to talk
Walking is her only mission
Wrapped around one hand is a rosary
Her security blanket
Her weapon