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Notes About The Poem

No One Counts the Bodies Jesus Walked Past

Daniel Henry Rodgers

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WARNING

This poem is not meant to shock but to bear witness. What follows is a portrait of addiction as I’ve witnessed it in Kensington, raw, brutal and tragically real. May we read not to judge but to remember that every life matters even the ones we step over. I offer these lines in love and truth because to ignore them would be the greater offense. - Poet

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Come sit down at a cracked diner table in the corner of some stinky dimly lit Philadelphia dive bar, greasy menus retouched, ashtrays full and let me tell you my friend firsthand about Kensington…. honest, visceral, my poet’s dagger turned inward and out. Not for the squeamish or the easily offended, not for pity nor forgiveness. I gave the street its voice and didn’t flinch. Now listen:

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No One Counts the Bodies Jesus Walked Past

Kensington spreads its legs—
lets the city crawl in,
dripping Xylazine / fentanyl / tranq,
open sore veins
moaning dirty dirges.

False prophets—
all piss and panic—
bark half-lies
through decaying molars,
fingering apathy
for spare change.

You smell it
five blocks before you enter.
The stench tests your soul
before it reaches your throat.
Narcan.
burnt spoons.
street toilet.
Dreams twitch under heat lamps—
larval things
too stubborn to die.

Hope?
Hope’s a half-smoked, laced Newport
balanced on a baby’s lip
next to a trash fire
named Jesus—
too high for resurrection,
too forgotten for a siren.

Last week:
a girl—
breasts bare, pants soaked,
her eyes rolled white
like God unplugged her
mid-sentence.

No one stopped.
Not the bus.
Not the clouds.
Not even the man
who stepped over her

like lint
on his pressed
Sunday best.

And me—
I didn’t stop.
didn’t even swallow.
I watched,
one hand buried in my coat,
the other holding
a prayer
that never made it
past the flicker
of a piss-warm lamppost.

Self-excoriation,
performed in the dark—
a private ritual,
scraping shame
into the marrow
of my thin-sin skin.

There’s a church on the corner.
Padlocked.
Its sign flaps
like a dying wing:

SUNDAY: ALL WELCOME.

It’s Thursday.
She won’t make it
to Sunday.

Behind Rite Aid,
a boy slumps—
Spider-Man backpack,
veins dammed sewer pipes.

The sidewalk tucks him in
with spite,
gravel,
and the excrement of things
that used to be dignity.
piled like human detritus
in the shadow of convenience.

A needle juts from his neck
like a crooked antenna,
tuned to some final station
where deliverance never broadcasts.

What kind of God
lets the body rot—
weeping pus—
before the soul
opens its eyes?

What kind of city
whitewashes grief
with slogans
no one reads
on walls
no one dares to touch?

I brought bread.
blankets.
verses I thought
could raise the dead.

They ate them
like roaches.
rats.
mouths numb—
rats the size of cats.

Grace—
a broken syringe
on the altar
of already-too-late.

This isn’t pretty poetry.
This is splatter—
brain-matter
curdling into blood.

This is an elegiac psalter
etched in body waste
on a Campbell’s soup can’s
rusted belly.

This is communion
through a needle.

“Thy kingdom come”—
scratched in fecal blood
behind Family Dollar.

And the miracle?
Not salvation.
Not even survival.

It’s her—
two blocks down,
still humming something
like a lullaby
for desecrated corpses,
as she trades her last dollar
for an hour
of dissolving, drifting
in her collapsing,
gangrenous,
abscessing veins.

And me—
I didn’t come
to write this.
I came—
to what?

yes—
to what?

to scream
until my throat
bled bloody mercy?

But I gagged.
Like always.
Like we all do.

Instead, I write—
because I’ve seen angels
trying to fly
with wings wrapped
in devil-black foil.

And you—
reader of tragedy,

ghost-scroller,
voodoo of comfort—

you’ll blink.
scroll.

you’ll bless this poem
with your silence
or a comment
like
“that’s enough.”

You’ll sip brandy,
setup a lunch date
sanitize your hands,
call it brave.

Say someone
should help.
But not you.
No.
Never you.

If it were your daughter
on these broken
and brutal streets—
shirtless, soul-prone,
boils blooming
like blasphemous flowers—

would you still scroll past?

Zoom closer.
See that infection reflection?

That’s you—
stepping over her.
a daughter.

That’s your shadow—
nodding off
beside the boy.
a son.
fading.
degrading.

slobbering.
snotting.

Soon—
police chalked in sidewalk.

That’s your apathy
badly tattooed
on every necrosis-cracked spine
curled in a god-forsaken alleyway.

That was your mercy.
And it festered your birthright
as it died.

There’s a needle
in your reflection too.

Only yours—
was filled,
brimming
anesthetic apathy
in the synapses
of unremembering.

Please Login to post a comment

John Hamilton Date: 8/8/2025 7:24:00 PM Awesome writing Daniel, so sad that it's all true, few can pen such a topic so viscerally as you did. I don't know Philly but I lived east side Vancouver and it was identical to what you described. Login to Reply

Richard Lamoureux Date: 8/3/2025 11:16:00 AM Raw and salient. We isolate our poor and drug addicted neighbors. It has been proven that connection is the gateway to recovery. This piece is important to help people develop empathy. I hope it goes viral. Login to Reply

Paige Hind Date: 8/2/2025 2:27:00 PM "or a comment like “that’s enough.” - I wish I could comment in some way to make it right for her. Your raw imagery shows your heart, Daniel. I could barely believe this as I read- I mean we see it, but seeing it through ~your words~ really makes it seem more like reality that touches you and me both. God bless you for writing this. Login to Reply Daniel Henry Rodgers Date: 8/2/2025 3:55:00 PM Dear Paige, Your kindness, your blessing, and the way you bear witness to this pain along with me are their own acts of healing. I believe that every time we refuse to look away, every time we hold space together like this, we bring a little more light to the world. Thank you for your gentle spirit and for being willing to feel these things with me. Blessings, My Dear Paige, Daniel

I Am Anaya Date: 8/2/2025 12:10:00 PM An evangelical may believe that the solution lies with Jesus opening our hearts to help those who need our charity. It rarely solves the issue. I’m compelled to mention authorities can sweep up the undocumented-- who work hard to feed there family, yet they leave behind in the streets, the stench of street denizen's who try our souls. Hypocrisy is palpable! Breasts are symbolic of nurturing, when the disgust of the starved spirit unbares itself, we can no longer turn the cheek. The degradation of the least of us is a reflection upon our corrupt and uncaring culture. Daniel, I am phased and faving your testament, pleased you shared __Anaya Login to Reply Daniel Henry Rodgers Date: 8/2/2025 3:51:00 PM Dear Anaya, faith alone though a beacon for many can fall short if not paired with real, tangible compassion, action, and justice. I’m humbled that my words could testify to these harsh realities alongside your courageous voice. Together, in honesty and shared sorrow, we keep pushing because acknowledging brokenness is the first step toward healing. Blessings, My Dear Anaya, Daniel

Mystic Rose Rose Date: 8/2/2025 8:59:00 AM Oh Daniel, no words for this, absolutely nothing but tears and sorrow. They say you don't know what a person goes through unless you have walked their path and felt what they felt, I don't know what the answer is, but I bet God is crying too. This should never be on any street here on earth, yet it is !! Login to Reply Daniel Henry Rodgers Date: 8/2/2025 3:47:00 PM Dear Rose, thank you for sharing such raw honesty and sorrow. You’re right that no one can truly know another’s pain unless they’ve walked that hard road themselves. The weight of this reality is heavy, and your hope that even God cries with us speaks to the sadness and empathy you hold in your heart. Blessings, Dear Rose, Daniel

Susan Ashley Date: 8/2/2025 8:29:00 AM Wow! Dear Daniel, the power of your pen to illuminate the dark world of addiction and our apathetic response to it is blinding it its scouring light. Your imagery is soul striking, forceful as it cuts through and electrocutes one's psyche like lightning! A visceral piece! A brutal reality captured through the lived experience of your savage lens and projected with the brute force of your poetic pen. This poem is a steam roller. You've captured addiction and "anesthetic apathy" with a bold anger, yet with emotional space for compassion and tenderness beseeching readers to find in ourselves the strength and the will to do something and not just "step over" those in the trenches of addiction. My admiration for your poetic expression grows ever greater with every poem I read from you. A Fav! Warmest wishes, my poet friend.. ~Susan Login to Reply Daniel Henry Rodgers Date: 8/2/2025 3:45:00 PM Dear Susan, You’ve captured the heart of what I was trying to say just how addiction is both a brutal reality and a call for our shared humanity, not numbness. Your praise, especially your recognition of the balance between anger and tenderness, means more than I can say. Thank you for standing with me in this, for your fierce empathy, and your poetic soul that sees the world’s raw edges without turning away. Blessings, My Dear Susan, Daniel

Brandy Nicole Date: 8/1/2025 7:19:00 PM Dearest Daniel, my eyes are filled with tears, my heart is heavy. I'm unable to truly place down 'in words' how I'm feeling right now after reading this. (After seeing these images in my mind). I'll just say, I feel lost. Sad. Hugs, Brandy Login to Reply Daniel Henry Rodgers Date: 8/2/2025 3:42:00 PM Dear Brandy, thank you for sharing your heart so honestly. Feeling lost and sad over something so painful is natural, because it’s real and raw and affects so many lives, including mine. I hope you hold onto the strength in your empathy for it’s a rare and beautiful thing. Sending you a big, warm hug back, full of gratitude and hope that together, through words and caring, we can keep shining light on these honest hard truths. Blessings, My Dear Brandy, Daniel

Kim Rodrigues Date: 8/1/2025 1:34:00 PM her eyes rolled white like God unplugged her mid-sentence...I saw a young woman laying in the streets of Atlantic City and a man on a park bench, both passed out, looking unnatural, like something from “The Walking Dead.” So disturbing. Login to Reply Daniel Henry Rodgers Date: 8/1/2025 2:19:00 PM Dear Kim, You’ve captured the shocking, unnatural feel of such a scene, and the way it unsettles the soul. It’s a powerful of just how close and real these tragedies are right there in our cities, often ignored or invisible to many. Thank you Kim for speaking this truth so boldly. Your voice is vital in shining light on what many prefer to look away from. Blessings, My Dear Kim, Daniel

John Fleming Date: 8/1/2025 12:06:00 PM This is the most powerful piece of poetry I think I have ever read anywhere...it is simply astounding. You need to keep submitting this until, as Anne says, it gets published in a big newspaper. An amazing write. You can only pen somethng like this if you actually see it. I could not write poetry like this poem of yours...I have never 'lived' it. Superb, Daniel. :) john p.s should be POTW. Login to Reply Tom Woody Date: 8/1/2025 5:02:00 PM JF is high tier Daniel so that's quite a compliment Daniel Henry Rodgers Date: 8/1/2025 2:16:00 PM Hello John, Thanks for not just reading, but feeling the poem so deeply, and for cheering me on like this. It’s friends like you who make the hard work of writing worthwhile. Blessings, My New Friend, Daniel

Anne Winter Date: 7/31/2025 9:22:00 PM How apathy and empathy works. Your poem gave light to the brutal truth of reality. You are a true poet, my dear friend. Your poem goes deep into the reader's heart and opens the vault of empathy. "would you still scroll past?" This question hits hard and awakens the senses of the reader's mind. I truly believe that everyone should read this poem. Your poem should be published in a big newspaper because your poem has the potential to change the world. Login to Reply

Anne Winter Date: 7/31/2025 9:22:00 PM May this poem get the recognition that it deserves. With love and respect always, Anne Login to Reply Daniel Henry Rodgers Date: 8/1/2025 2:11:00 PM Dearest Anne, Your questions about the girl’s journey, the gift of life, and the absurdity of dreams and nightmares that’s the heart of the puzzle I’m wrestling with, too. It’s a heavy weight but also a necessary one. I love how you highlight the tension between apathy and empathy, because that’s exactly the crossroads where change begins. I hope it reaches more eyes and hearts, sparking more of that deep reflection and, maybe, a bit of movement toward understanding and action. Thanks for your love and respect and it’s held close. Here’s to keeping the conversation alive, through poetry and beyond, so those voices don’t get lost in the noise. Blessings, My Dear Anne, Daniel

Anne Winter Date: 7/31/2025 9:16:00 PM Dearest Daniel, you have shown the part of the world that people often ignore. Your poem is really thought provoking. The kind of poem that leaves the reader thinking and staring at the wall for hours. The first question that came to mind after reading your poem is that if life is a beautiful journey then what about that girl's journey mentioned in the poem? If life is a gift then what about her gift? If life is a dream for some, some dreams are nightmares too. The absurdity of life is confusing Login to Reply

Bill Baker Date: 7/31/2025 5:20:00 PM Con't ... I need to pray now and ask for help to do what I can for other. May your words guide many into the reality of how many out there need our help. God guide us, and God bless and protect those that are unable to even see the reality of their condition. May God's mercy be on us that have forgotten we are here to serve others. Bless you, Daniel for your sharing of your meaning poetry with us. A FAV for this effort, my friend. Bill Login to Reply Daniel Henry Rodgers Date: 8/1/2025 2:06:00 PM Dear Bill, Thanks for reading with your whole heart, Bill. Your compassion and your willingness to look where it hurts—those are the seeds that grow into real action. Here’s to walking the hard paths, together, and not letting ourselves or each other off the hook when it comes to serving those who need hope most. Grateful for your friendship and your challenging, generous spirit. Blessings, My Brother, Daniel

Bill Baker Date: 7/31/2025 5:16:00 PM Your poem is picture of reality no one wants to look at, but a reminder that tragedy is breed in places just like these you so accurately describe, my friend. I feel ashamed that my merger efforts have done little to truly help. In my younger days, I thought I was so good for giving up Thanksgiving with my family to serve meals at a local shelter. I was so shallow and, to be honest, afraid to get my hands dirty and walk among them and offer some form of hope. Thanks for the reminder, Daniel Login to Reply

Sara Etgen-Baker Date: 7/31/2025 4:55:00 PM your poem bears witness to a tragic truth, prevalent in so many cities worldwide. Downtown Dallas is rife with homelessness, drugs, and other assorted crimes. Sometimes I ponder, "how did these cities get this far with the problem. I suppose folks were/are turning a blind eye. Well penned, Daniel. Have a blessed evening, Sara Login to Reply Daniel Henry Rodgers Date: 8/1/2025 2:03:00 PM Dear Sara, I really appreciate your compassion and willingness to see the hard truths, not just in my poem but in the world around us. That kind of wakeful empathy means more than most people realize. Thank you for reading with your heart open and not shying away from what hurts. I hope we both keep holding space through words, through kindness for those forgotten and left behind. Amen! Blessings, Dear Sara, Daniel

Tom Woody Date: 7/31/2025 2:46:00 PM Brutal, honest portrayal Daniel. I've seen the videos and even wrote my own Kensington avenue poem. Ever watch the Soft White Underbelly vids? I've seen several. The problem of course is more complicated. Addiction, mental illness, chronic unemployment due to many being unemployable, etc. Some of these folks have received help from multiple agencies multiple times but they keep relapsing into their old ways. Again, complicated with no viable solutions, kinda like the AI problem here on PS Login to Reply Tom Woody Date: 7/31/2025 4:10:00 PM It reminds me of this Bible verse at Jeremiah 10:23, "I well know, O Jehovah, that to earthling man his ways do not belong. It does not belong to man who is walking even to direct his steps." Human solution attempts, while noble, will always fall short Daniel Henry Rodgers Date: 7/31/2025 4:02:00 PM Hello Tom, first thanks for responding. Until I retired this year my MH and SA office in Philadelphia tried hard to be part of the solution and to some degree we were but only there was a funding and access problem. The real problem is a lethal drug environment combined with entrenched socioeconomic disadvantage, insufficient and fragmented treatment and support systems and the complexity of addiction and relapse cycles. Effective solutions must address medical detox, long-term treatment, housing stability, mental health services, economic opportunity and community rebuilding to reduce addiction and support recovery sustainably and societal change of heart. Daniel Henry Rodgers Date: 7/31/2025 4:02:00 PM Kensington alone has 975 homeless and is a hotspot for overdose deaths, with over 1,400 fatalities in Philadelphia in 2022, 1315 in 2023, mostly involving fentanyl mixed with xylazine. Cocaine, crack and meth are the others. God is always the answer and we need a miracle that has not transpired. Churches are mostly hopeless and try but no real solution. Summer Blessings Tom, and let us pray for an answer. Daniel Tom Woody Date: 7/31/2025 2:47:00 PM On a much lesser scale of course. The only true solution is the kingdom of God under Jesus. I believe divine intervention is imminent

Paula Goldsmith Date: 7/31/2025 2:41:00 PM WOW!!! What a powerful write/quote. The question is, how did things get so bad, so out of hand??? Today, what does life mean??? Little to many but much to God. God did make each one. How does one lose their life to evil??? Have a blessed day writing away......... Login to Reply Daniel Henry Rodgers Date: 7/31/2025 4:21:00 PM Dear Paula, thanks for responding to my poem. We are in a fallen world and Philadelphia definitely through the years has been one of hot beds for Drugs in the USA.Kensington being one of the worst. My heart breaks for them because I have seen first hand the issues. I walked past individuals passed out on the street almost every day. The cops walk by every now and again and nudge them to see if they are still alive and if they are they walk on. Even ambulance crews do not like being called to Kensington for overdoses. God is the ultimate answer but we need wisdom to effectively work on the problem with our God given talent. Thanks again, My Dear Paula, Blessings, Daniel