It’s My Turn to Pay

It’s My Turn to Pay

(“Defend weak people and orphans. Protect the rights of the oppressed and the poor.” Psalm 82:3)

Once the day began with thought it would be better
to stop ignoring the troubles of our neighbors up the road.
We should have surrendered long ago and
stood with them in the rain while they waited in line
for untimely help. We covered them in
random songs we learned along the way.

I’ll meet you for breakfast; I’ll drive by and
pick you up by 8. It’s on me, by the way. It’s
my turn
to pay. I’ve heard what people say about your
downward turn of luck and then they walk away
like they are best buddies with God. They spew
undeserved cantons of excuses on the ground.

We hoped to persuade the unequal ground that
your pain deserved protection and your lack deserved
more than a presumptive hearing.
We surely would serve you something more substantial
than the soup we poured into casual tureens. Maybe we
could stand outside in antiseptic sunshine and convince
the onlookers of your full humanity. We would squarely
with you as we ascended the pyramids of eminence.
We would write the epitome of verses that covered the
curses that excused puffed-up rhetoric that left you living
behind the ghost town facades.

We left our assumptions behind this time. We warmed
up your coffee, we shared our hashbrowns, we picked up the
bill
and left a hefty tip for the server who called you by name.