It was a single stroke of genius,
an oasis in a desert of a bungled day
when I decided
should be given to heat-afflicted homeless people.
Deacon Frank and I paraded around
a homeless camp,
no Pied Piper needed,
no out-of-tune tinny music on an endless loop
like the summertime daily attraction of my childhood.
Our homeless friends found us in all our abundance,
dishing out one here, two there,
and the numbers grew, another and another
and then the wave broke.
We stood around, finally,
talking survival, clutching our
happy homeless friends with
chocolate running down,
chocolaty lips smacking,
the delicate savoring
of the stick.
As we left, we offered the remains,
and found reluctant takers
one here, one there.
The last one offered is declined.
“I’m fudged out!”
and we laughed together.
It is as it should be for all of us at times.
You may not have a roof over your head,
you may be overwhelmed with life
you may have a really crappy day,