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.