Acceptance

I’d like to dedicate this poem to the Rev Sara Irwin, Rector of Christ Church Waltham, good friend, spiritual leader, and also the one who first suggested I help with the local homeless day care center periodically, and who also is a character in this poem.
But I think I know what she’ll say, likely something of a "No, it’s not like that," or
"That’s not what we’re doing here."
So, may I apologize in advance?

Acceptance

What dwells within an honest man
  who contrives false witness on himself?
For me? I left suit business years ago,
   not a quitter, not a slacker, nor was I fired,
Yet I’ll not confess that I’m retired,

On a snow blanketed morning, Jorge approached as I dug out my car,
   he held his own shovel in his pink and chapped hands,
  and his face wordlessly spoke this wasn’t his first driveway today,
‘I help, I do, I do that?’
‘I only have a ten. Sure, you just stop when you think it’s ten dollars worth.’

On a Sunday morning the Orange Jacket,
   arms devout in a resting cross,
   warmed himself in the back most pew,
See, shelters close at seven, with no day center until two,
   thus cold Winter mornings boost Church attendance,

At coffee hour, Gray Coat was comfortable enough to help himself,
   "No cheese today?"
   I replied "We’re not mice"

That Thursday I brought a pasta lunch to the homeless center,
  where there, I saw a face I knew, I’m sure, a face I’d seen before;
It was Jorge at the shelter’s table,
   ‘I remember, you once helped me dig out my driveway.’
   ‘I no recall,’
   ‘I know you,’
   ‘I no shovel’

Also there, Sara, our Rector, recognized the Orange Jacket,
   "I think I know you, I’ve seen you in the pews at our Church,"
   "No, I don’t think, no,"
   "Are you sure? I know it’s you,’
   "No, that can’t be me,’

Gray Coat was content to eat the pasta,
   I said "No cheese today,"
He looked to me with neither eyes of fear,
   nor threat, nor denial,
   nor one who acted as on trial,
"At the Church last Sunday. you told me ‘No cheese today,"’
   he simply took his plate and walked away,

So I stand, a blank with just acceptance,
   for there once again was drawn those curtains of obscuration,
   they that cover the windows into a man,
Which all we draw before our neighbor’s grin,
   to hide what timorous souls we are, again,
   so by denying that whom we are without, is whom we are within,

And I …. I ?
   in forbearance of this human vice,
   I never heard the cock crow thrice