Sitting on the corner, freezing in the rain-
Getitn all emotional; it's hard to bear the pain
Used to have a home, just like you upscale folk
Now my world is shattered; my life's become a joke.
I used to have some money, a little compact car,
Spent the weekdays workin-weekends at the bar.
Food was on the table, rent was paid on time;
But once the weekend's over, I never had a dime.
Weekends at the bar became weeknights too
In record time I lost my job-heck what's a guy to do?
Got a paycheque comin; I'm okay for a bit-
Just one more wicked party-then I'll sort my s*
Lost my house; hit the streets: party's over now.
I'm beggin for a little change-you walk right by and frown.
Help me! Someone please! Don't just give me dough.
I'd blow it all on booze and drugs, as I'm sure you know.
Reach down, take my hand, help me to my feet;
Help me get cleaned up; find some food to eat.
I can't do it on my own-I need a helping hand-
If you help me to get up, I sure will try to stand.
I think I'd have a chance if someone shows they care
As you pass me on the street do you think you dare?
D H Loewen
2018
This is not an accident. I used to call him
a lazy criminal. Scooping hearts and spilling blood,
leaving footprints, fingerprints. Stains.
Eyes folding over -- the blindman or the beggar?
Lips that blossomed into blueprints.
Hands that rhymed with dreams, instead.
The weeknights, dark and warm
in a season of curled paper.
No speaking -- guilt only follows
past the second trip through the door.
And then the mornings.
More sun in him than the greenhouse
where we watched dragonfly wings.
A pattern about him
like dragonfly wings.
In those days we knew
what it meant to point
without wounding.
We knew how to need someone
without wanting,
without loving.
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