Be made well, that’s
What the stranger said as he sat beside me.
Go to hell, that’s
What I thought about that stranger who thought he could find me.

Find me? Find me?
If I could find myself, I’d leave this park bench now.
But the man’s words
Stayed in my ears and I listened more with furrowed brow.

You’re a blessed man
Is what he told me next, with a deep sincerity.
I’ll punch you in the chest, man
And I held back pounds of violence and anger mightily.

If I were rich,
I’d give you a million dollars - for you need it.
He actually said this,
And I hated his platitudes and this place he chose to sit.

But I’m not rich,
So I can only offer this to you, my lost friend.
And he opened his
Heart and told me his life, his lost children and wife.

And I’m relieved to
Finally see him wander on, and leave me here alone.
I’ll feed the pigeons
Now, and I’m well, blessed, and rich. I pick up the phone.

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Posted in: Poetry