Struggle XVII

By Andrew R. Duckworth

I wasn’t sure if anyone else had
Helped this man lying on the
Hot concrete in Las Vegas,
Clothes torn, hair a mess,
A sign of scribble
With an attempt to spell out
“Hungry.”
I slowed down as I passed him,
My eyes fixed on him like he
Was built of the same LED lights
As the million other signs in
Any direction,
A spectacle,
One that I did not marvel at,
But one I felt sorry for.
But I didn’t stop.
I kept walking to Caesar’s.
There were dinner reservations
At a restaurant that no longer
Exists.
I was hungry.
He was hungry,
And I gave not to eat.

Homelessness has become an
Increasing problem throughout
The United States, particularly
The cities.
There are plenty of programs
Designed to keep such people
In their place,
Throw out some crumbs
As if they were pigeons.
I have yet to see a decent
Program that helps them back
On their feet,
Possibly because if such
A program existed, those in
Programs keeping the homeless
Homeless would be out of a job.

I remember the man’s face.
He was exhausted,
The moon high overhead.
And that burden,
The burden of not feeding
The hungry, has weighed on my
Shoulders for years, like anchors
Slowing me down.
I will be okay.
I am not sure if the man
Is even still alive.
But that man’s face
Is a reminder
Of words spoken
By a Savior
In the desert,
Words I did not follow,
Words that will haunt me
For years to come.

I’m reminded of a statue
Of Jesus built upon a park bench,
Not one of glory and awe,
But of hardship
Under a blanket,
The feet sticking out
To show the nail marks,
A reminder that my Savior
Lived and worked in poverty.
I have always feared such a fate,
A life exposed to the elements.
Now, I regret that I have not
Done more for the least
Among us.