Is it failing eyes or conscience
since we seem not to see how
Rodney stands alone exposed
to torrential rain in wind
teeming masses hurry past
umbrellas clash like swords
downcast heads dwell on where
to go as they ignore the plaintive plea
I AM HUNGRY says its sign in letters
bright and bold the apathy of others
should always leave us cold
that no one stops is hard to see
it keeps Rodney in the depths of anonymity
will no one spare a dime or time
with compassion if not love
how many in the crowd claim they’re
pious or devout pray to God on Sunday
but worship Mammon now
To me the diner window as if a museum's
gilded frame when I glanced right across the
side street revealed Rodney's striking sight
neither Monet's Garden at Givenchy
nor Pissarro’s Montmartre Boulevard
match the majesty of Rodney’s steadfast
stance in showers as he righteously upholds
his right to live to thrive as you or I or anyone
among commuters passing by
the Good Samaritan's heart and eyes were open
and Jesus bore the cross they'd show mercy in a blizzard
all faiths tell such tales
I have to go the waiter’s told my
partner understands as New York's 17th and 6th
becomes the Jericho Road
pulling Jacksons from my pocket I dash and splash
dodge skidding bikes and cars to
soak with Rodney in the deluge
where I ask his and say my name
reaching for my brother’s hand to get him out of rain
nourished with a hot meal safely warm and dry
I say this not as self-praise what I did was small
I just wonder why on earth we won't share enough for all
we boast of freedom but from shackled minds
corporate titans live in splendor as their bottom lines
balloon with fifteen bucks an hour for those who shine their shoes
or serve the lunch too much elected leaders say
they’ve made us mighty with our missiles
we have four hundred five to point at nations overseas
but I fear more than China or the Russians
how we treat the least of these
let’s save lives instead of killing with the thirty
million dollars that a single missile costs
so many people languish in distress in sunshine snow or rain
how wise we'd be to help them it would
build community
in all the coastal cities and our heartland towns
if we’d wake up from our sitcoms and commercials
ignore the talking heads
a nation with the know-how to reach the Moon and Mars
could allocate some housing and create some jobs while
feeding all the people at all the corners missed
amid the office towers where aluminum and glass
shield those who push the hedge funds while they
try to build a brand
as Rodney stands alone in rain beware his fate could
come your way because life has no guarantee
would you not want someone to stop
then go to see him now before the anonymous Americans
who with us live a lie stare at your soul each morning
from the mirror while you brush hair or knot a tie
will your eyes stay open with your conscience clear as
you travel on the daily trail that takes you where you go
will loving kindness guide you to help Rodney
and his mythic kin if someone’s boldly lettered sign
or merely empty hand declare a personal emergency
will you make the stranger welcome as a friend
with genuine concern and generosity to embrace at last
that love grows from compassion and the sharing of resources
that even in the lockdown have been enough for all
Poet's Note
Rodney haunts me. I saw him through a diner window at Manhattan's 17th Street and Sixth Avenue. He had no umbrella but his upheld sign said "I AM HUNGRY." He stood alone in rain. Commuters hurtled past. I joined him, asked his name and helped with money for a hot meal somewhere warm and dry. It was a common encounter but his urging to "keep on being a free person" prods reflections on how we live with lies about our values in this polarized pandemic era when the nation's top-heavy wealth is kept by the few or squandered on the arsenals of endless wars. This poem honors Rodney and his mythic kin on all our corners. It calls us to open eyes and clear the conscience to become more humane.