I Need To Do More Than Cry (Poverty) Poem by A. P. Hancock

Dedicated to All Our Homeless Friends Around the World

I saw my old friend Cal today, and was shocked like never before.
He called my name as I waited for Ton, by the eat-all-you-don’t-need store.
As I turned to see who was shouting for me, I stopped there dead in my tracks.
The voice had an all-too-familiar ring, but I just couldn’t bring it back.

And then as I looked at his face in the crowd, I could hardly believe my eyes.
It was a dear old friend from two lives ago, a long lost high school guy.
He was the one who was smarter than all, he was the one you just knew
Would make it so big that one day he’d be, wearing those president shoes.

But there he was much to my surprise, in dirty old second hand threads.
He looked as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks, his face was the color of dead.
I knew it was him but just couldn’t believe, that his life had taken that turn
I would find out soon what his life was like, and how much I had to learn.

He greeted me with a sheepish smile, and asked if I knew who he was.
I shook his hand and said, “Of course I do”, just like the Mayor does.
I know he saw the shock on my face, it was something too hard to hide.
For I never imagined I’d ever see, my friend on the downward slide.

We sat and talked at Café Dumond, where they have those great beignets.
He ate everything I could buy for him, and then started his words of dismay.
He told me he needed a lawyer to sue, the Jackals who’d done him wrong.
But I knew there was more to his rant and rave, than some sad unlucky song.

He was broke and homeless and on the run, from life, himself and more.
He was on that last proverbial leg, he was half through the check-out door.
He was sitting there in front of me, with soul and heart almost gone.
He was wanting me to make the next move, with the queen, a rook, or a pawn.

I asked if he needed a place to stay, and he said that that would be nice.
I was scared to bring him home with me, scared of some hidden vice.
So I took him down to the shelter place, and asked if it was OK.
He nodded his head and went on in, I followed so I could pay.

The man at the counter said, “ID please”, and that’s when I learned the rest.
My friend had lost his license that day, with a card that wasn’t the best.
So with nerves wearing thin and patience gone, I got in my car again.
Paid the bill and got his ID, and went back to the Hotel Plain.

He apologized for the trouble he’d caused, and thanked me for the cash
We talked a while about later on, and how we’d blab about old-time hash.
He went his way and I went mine, out to my car on the street.
I sat there the longest going over it all, the puzzle incomplete.

At home I was restless and couldn’t sleep, wondering the why of it all.
Not knowing what it meant for me, this fateful day in the mall.
I’m still not sure as I write these words, that I know all or part the why
But when I think of Calvin B., I need to do more than cry.