Poverty of Compassion

When out in this city, or that one across the bay, I would often think, “These bloody homeless people everywhere all the time…”

Sometimes I still do.

Especially on the train when all I want is peace:

and I want to forget this world isn’t always beautiful,

and that this country is too rich for anyone to be unfed, unwashed, and unsheltered;

and when I’m having a bad day,

and when I am tired;


Peace on a train in a city?

That’s like a sky blue midnight:

it only happens in remote places where trains are sleds pulled by huskies.

When a woman with dirty hair, ragged nails and old and new shopping bags smiles at me and asks if the next stop is Gateway, I smile and say “Yes.”

Then I think, “I wish I felt safe to hug you”. We could both use a hug.

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