Cardboard Box

The bus jerked to a stop at Lexington and Fifty.This long awaited city trip would be nifty.I was a country gal here to sense the city’s throb,the odor of pedestrians, the thrill of the mob.I was proud of myself as a Christian do-gooder,Bringing in Jesus to this metropolitan sewer.My high heels clicked briskly along the cement sidewalk,And I wondered when I’d get to share my “gospel talk.”My leather pocketbook swayed; my fur coat brushed my calf;I smelled the city garbage. [Sure glad I’d had My bath].I gawked at the store windows with all their fancy stuff.I mumbled ‘bout our materialism, with a huff.Bags crackled and flopped; money flowed from pocket to stores,People jostled, came and went through multiple shop doors.The crowd was thick; and I felt like sardine in a pack.While I moved along, oops, my high heel caught in a crack.Alas! I tripped and fell forward against a man’s back.“Excuse me,” I said, my naive face getting all red.But the man pushed on ignoring me, socially dead.[Did this elbowing and shoving happen all the time,I wondered, as I heard a distant country bell chime?]I saw hot steam from a grate rise and there it hovered.Rolled on these warm bars was a ragged man, all coveredby a blanket of cardboard, his own home made so cheap.He must be stuck in homelessness quick sand, real deep.His bristled, gray face was slack; ageless eyes closed in sleep.Despite crowds, I watched him lay still, though a taxi beeped.And he just kept on clutching the cardboard to his chest,Tuning out the busy-ness; trying to get his rest.Three laughing youths with shiny boots, jackets and greased hairMoved in, shoved and jostled him awake –Oh, so unfair.Satisfied, they pranced on without a backward gaze,Leaving the half-awakened vagrant man in a daze.Pure righteousness in me rose up at this injustice.Why did human kind, towards the poor, show such malice?(Gosh, compared to this helpless bloke, I lived in a palace.)He looked red-eyed, gaunt, hungry and probably had mange.Leery, I kept my distance while handing him some change.I tapped on his cardboard and proudly held out my giftand assumed he would give thanks for this financial lift.But the man blinked, scowled, coughed and said – as I stood by:“Bug off, Good Samaritan.   All I want is some shut eye.”