Unexpected

Unexpected

(“Do not owe anyone anything, but love each other. Whoever loves his neighbor has done what the Law says to do.” Romans 13:8)

I had not expected to grow old,
at least not by this time in my life.
I wanted to hit my stride, glide into the final landing
gracefully.

There was a man in the ditch, by the side of the road,
a vagrant, a countryman (if that is what you insist on calling him)
and a megachurch minister walked by,
then a deacon with nothing to do but check the
ledgers for contributions walked by.
And they were so busy with their kingdoms
they hurried down the road to their ordained destinies.

I did not expect to return,
at least not by the same road I left.
I wanted to end the hike, strike the summit, banners ablaze
and waving.

The blood had crusted around his wounds, saliva slid down
his scrawny beard and chin. He lived a stone’s throw
from the citizens of town and proudly voted republican.
But bandits do not check your bona fides
before they take your money. There was a man walking by
on the same side, mowing the same ditch,
an illegal (if that is what you insist on calling him)
and, touching the split lip unlaced on the bleeding face,
washed the wounds, shared his wine,
broke his bread, and helped the victim
into his olive green truck. He sped through the turns
along the river until they reached the home he shared with
his cousins. The doors were royal blue. Who was
the citizen, and who the neighbor? Who was love,
and who was legal?

I did not expect to write this,
at least not at this time of the day.
I wanted to cry my tears, swear I did not deserve this last
upheaval.