2011-08-23T23:00:27-07:00August 23rd, 2011|Musings on life|

His fury is not for us

There is a man who yells
in the alley behind my office
a roar that seethes with rage
it pounds out of him.

He used to show up every few months
swiping at the air
banging the garbage bins
kicking at doors.

I’ve watched
safe from my third-floor window
as pedestrians stare
and cross the street in fear
but his fury is not
for us.

I saw him once
in the centre of this city
where the poor gather
like magnets
he was twitching
like an animal
who knows it is prey
I asked around and learned his story
born to a drunk
a life of so few kindnesses
you wonder if being born
was the least kind
of all.

I haven’t seen him for a long time
the last time
dirty as the alley
a storm of spit
lunging at the sky
I felt my own temper surging
anger at his mother
though somebody must have broken her too
but still
she suffocated all the kind strong men
he might have been
and left a beast behind
for the taste of something
he has never known.

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