Ragged Rage

Parked at the church

to handle a few items on email

A ragged man knocks on my window.

At first I ignore his abrupt intrusion,

I’m busy to busy for this connection;

But stormy eyes bore in and

I lower the window, a small concession,

How can I help? I ask.

You can’t he shrieks,

Nothing helps,

His eyes cloudy and strange

Focus on me and

I feel blame.

His white curly hair rings around an unsmiling visage,

teeth bared, eyes glassy,

Loaded for bear.

He speaks in clipped phrases,

not begging but complaining,

angry at reality and his ragged place in our predatory universe.

He takes the fiver handed to assuage my need then rages more,

Forlorn, he trash talks me, the church

and the sky above.

Inconsolable but determined to make some dent,

He aims his rage for the moment at me. He preaches injustice sorely felt,

With confused logic and unclear reason, scrambling his direction and sentiment.

I ask a question; big mistake,

he is enraged by my presumption.

He did not take kindly to offered counsel or consolation. He was adamant he deserved better than this desolation.

I offer a prayer, not to him, but for me.

Nothing but anger and grief,

Loud words without communication,

Spew out madness and complete exasperation.

Soon he walks away in frustration,

but no sooner do I return to my work,

And he is back,

for another round,

demanding my attention, yelling complaints far beyond my comprehension.

We have little respect for the human condition beyond our own needs.

We are too busy on Facebook and TickTock, recording fleeting moments of fame.

Humanity is read of in books and tragedy is played on stages for catharsis sake,

but no humanity walks on his American street.

No resources applied can touch his pain,

no hand outs, no care can heal his wounds.

His tale of abuse is nothing beside what he and so many go through. Addiction and loss piled high on his white head, mistakes weigh down his sad life. He must feel like the walking dead.

The life he runs perilously,

Brings him close to extinction,

and rage rules the ragged life he lives.

But the destitute must meet our entitled judgment,

or endure consequences of rejection and resentment,

for most of us such an existence – impossible to imagine.

Rage rags on in his mind.

Rage stirs his unsteady step.

He is our shame wrapped in disgrace,

a silent judgement of contempt and punishment by decent people.

We live in fear of zombies roaming aimlessly near. We are their doctors, their judges, their priests safe in our homes, traveling right roads, rarely

Willing to share.

What compassion and courage could make for him a human connection

more important than the five I gave him.

Congratulations fellow humans,

we have built a world not made for them. We have connections and speak of love and compassion. It makes us feel kind of human, but not for those walking in need of care and direction.

Can we share our bread kept under our warm tailored robes? Can we offer a hand up from our comfortable mansions?

Of course, but it might cost too much.

‘Are there no prisons?’

But now – alone in his wilderness of pain, we bear much of the blame,

until he burns up in ragged rage.

THH

4/15/24