A Dangerous Cause?
He may have worn my father's uniform,
lived next door five years ago,
took communion with my uncle
each night for a year
in the jungles of Vietnam
but the familiar heap
though weak and unthreatening
is dangerous.
I may feel shame,
tossing him a five
and whispering a Merry Christmas
when I know that his will be
a melancholy meal spent
at Saint Peters (if he gets there early)
and that he would be able
to comfortably forget the holiday
if not for donors like me
mumbling guilty-good wishes.
but I can only see
the shivering heap
asking me to forget
my society taught survival instincts
to invite danger
into my locked car,
behind my locked gate,
into my locked home
and into my locked heart
that cannot afford to lose faith
in yet another human being.
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