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A bum—a holy fool all I knew.
I’d just redeemed some cans, a case or two
And grabbed a single by the checkout queue.
Not my proudest move. Remember though,
Throwing stones is often quid pro quo.
His robe of castoff clothes, his beard askew.
He grabbed a bottle, then he bade adieu,
Handing over all his handout dough.
Might as well throw caution to the wind.
The jingle of the bell above the door
As he stepped out to reap what he had sown,
Reminded me: had Adam never sinned…
O happy fault that finds us on the floor,
Blacked out, face down alone with the Alone!