Sunday, November 05, 2006



I was taught in early days
For the good of the whole
Give to the church.
And it would take care of Africa
And those pagan babies.

I was taught in middle days
Me first, live and let live.
I’ll take care of me
And you’ll take care of you
How neat. And end of story.

No and no and no
Is there such a thing
As loving detachment
From the pain of
A limbless child in Iraq.

From the frightened
Face of a teenage whore
On Jarvis Street.
From the smelly mound
Of a sleeping bag on a filthy grid.

I teach myself in elder days
That the child is me
The whore is me.
And I’m inside the fetid bag
Of my own blindness.

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