Today I commented

On a social media post.

Then I visited a mall,

On Facebook I did boast.

When I sit at my table

For Thanksgiving leftovers

I can’t shake the image

Of a man who didn’t smell sober.

I saw him outside the mall,

Cradling a cardboard sign

that said, “Will work for food.”

I walk by as if to him I am blind.

Now, my fork touches the potatoes

As the man’s words rattle in my brain.

He said, “I’m hungry. Can you help?”

I rationalized, he just wants cocaine.

After dinner, I check my phone

To see if my post has a like,

But a comment says I’m a mall rat

Who’s rich. What a stereotype!

How dare someone say I’m wealthy

When I am just comfortable.

My mind replays the man’s words

And I fear I too have pinned a label.

But what can I possibly do

To ease the plight of the hungry?

Perhaps I can start by seeing

That I am starved for empathy.

Midnight spreads the table, the moon

our place, setting, and we say cheese!

click, click, hands turn as chopsticks

always empty, when the hour strikes

and the sky's black tongue licks the plate

clean, then we've eaten, in a way, even...

Every night down in the street i heard him open bin lids sorting through rubbish for tin cans, i hadn't seen but i just knew it, on dark almost every night.

bang, bang, bang

At the time i didn't have much money as i waited to start university living above a Thai restaurant in the city.

I had saved up a bag of coins, dollars, twenties, fifties for emergencies, and i had resolved to give this to the man who i called tin can man.

One night i heard him at the bins, shuffling, banging and rushed down the wooden steps through the restaurant out to the street below.

What i saw was a little bent over old man, intent on the bin he was looking in not noticing me at all.

I walked up to him with the bag in hand and said, 'Hey mate, i have something for you'. He had turned quickly, flinching at the same time, expecting an attack.

'I have these coins for you please take them', i had said quietly. He looked at me for a moment then took the bag, not saying a thing.

Then i went back to my room, and he to his life on the streets, but at least i helped if only a little bit.

Is there anybody hungry?

Is that gnaw even around?

When everybody’s fat

and burger joints abound?

I mean, if addict‘s can score hits

just by standing in a line,

then if anyone’s still hungry

it’s a bureaucratic crime!

Are there any kids still out there

with nutritional wishings?

Can you feel a hunger pang

whist obliviously Twitch-ing?

Or when Welfare pays you better

than the factory down the street,

so you’ve thrown your worthless man away

whose paycheck can’t compete?

And can there still be hunger

in a country so sublime,

that it‘s arming the Israelis

while aiding Palestine?

And if everyone’s invited

cause our borders don’t exist,

should we cry for who is hungry

but who will not dig a ditch?

Forgive me my foolish follies,

I know to you I sound obtuse.

But is emotional intelligence

not put to better use,

by placing useless passions

upon yesterday’s shelf,

and instead giving assistance to he

who cares to help himself?