Poetry in the Park

I went to the park today. I went today of all days; June 20 in Phoenix when the forecast predicted a 120 degree day. I only stayed for about 20 minutes and sweat through my t-shirt. I talked to my new friend, James. He’s so interesting. We talked about books, one of my favorite subjects. He is fun and intelligent. He is a poet. He is an addict. He is homeless. James and the eight other people and the dog in the small park are homeless. They needed a little extra help today, so I contributed ever so slightly.

I bought several cases of water and a few bunches of bananas and hit the road to downtown Phoenix this morning. On my way to the park, I was fortunate enough to meet several gentle souls that needed a bite to eat and some cool water. When I got out of my car at the park, not a soul stirred. I surveyed my surroundings, I saw dirty and exhausted bodies sleeping on the grass under the small trees. I wasn’t afraid; neither were they. We’re the same; just people on a miserably hot day. I spent the next ten minutes distributing water and bananas; the man with the dog came first. He had nothing to eat or drink yet his dog’s bowl was full of water, placed next to her full bowl of dog food. Her name is Sally the Dog.

Then I met James. He was boisterous and outgoing. He pointed to a young man who was lying on the pavement under an awning. As I approached, the man reached out his hand for the water I was carrying. I handed it to him but he was too weak to open the bottle. I opened it and lifted his head to give him a sip. He gulped the whole bottle. When he was finished with his third bottle, he tried to sit up against a tree but just didn’t have the strength. He wasn’t too tired to thank me.

Before I left, I stopped to have a smoke with James. We talked for maybe ten minutes. He had been reading a newspaper. Before I knew it, we were talking about our favorite authors. We share a love of Oscar Wilde. We hugged and said goodbye, not knowing if we’ll ever see each other again.

Walking back to my car, I was starting to feel the pain of wearing some old flip-flops for the first time in years. I was sweating, thirsty, and didn’t feel very well. So was James.

I drove home in my air-conditioned car. Tonight I stopped at a sub shop to get my favorite sandwich. I soaked my blistered feet and changed my shoes. Now, I’m in my cool home with a full belly and my feet up. I may walk to the kitchen for a snack and another cold drink while I watch t.v. My dogs are sleeping, one on my bed, and one on hers. Sally doesn’t have a bed, neither does James.

It’s after eight o’clock at night and still 115 degrees. If you’re inside and have enough water, think about James and his friends. If you’re not too embarrassed to look someone in the eye when she offers you a cold drink, think about James. If your dog is safe tonight, think about Sally. If you’re fortunate enough to have the strength to sit upright, think about James. If you’re privileged enough to have something tangible, anything to call your own, think of James. When you’re done thinking, help.