The BlueIris Semi-Nightly Poetry Break, 11/11/08

"Figures"

When he walks by an old drunk or a stumbling vet,
he stops to rummage in his pockets for spare change
or a stray bill, remembers the cold urge
of fifteen years ago that kept his joy trapped
in a bottle or in the stained nub of a roach
passed from one set of cracked lips to another.
Their creased palms opened like scrolls
toward the bright coins of light, stamped chips
of winter barter for the scraps and opiates
of this city. He won't ask and doesn't care
what his money is exchanged for: a blanket,
a pair of wrecked shoes, the harsh, sharpened
glare of a needle, or a pack of smokes.
Who can calculate the worth
of one man's pain? What they need, he figures,
can't be more than what he owes.

—Dorianne Laux

I love Dorianne Laux. :hug:

It's been a little busy in the House of BlueIris, and I didn't want the other poems I have left to share for this project to get ignored in favor of election elation.

Oooh, this is too good!

How perfectly appropriate for Veteran's Day...

Thank you...

:patriot:

who among us can calculate the worth. :patriot: :kick: