...In Mean Streets
Gray sidewalk into a back alley
Off some low, dead-end sign
Walks a man, past
a shadow of himself
Who is he? Is he a brother?
He is the least of these, the teacher said.
He is friend to the cold and dark places…
Do you know him?
Listen to the stories…
Over bridges, under streetlights;
against the bitter wind
These are the places they live…
where we call ourselves “them”
Listen to the stories…
Where highways turn to gravel
And lanes into sewers
Forgotten, under glass, turned away
By those who would not share
It’s you, it’s me…we are they
who sit alone in the cold
Sleeping in the park,
While a moment wanders by
Listen to the stories…
They are the beloved,
orphans of us all, adopted by God
They sing of wounded silence,
longing just to know…
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