Too Much Of Me Comes First (Poverty) Poem by A. P. Hancock

Dedicated to All Our Homeless Friends Around the World

I saw my old friend Cal today, at a surprising place and time.
The day was supposed to be just for me, for me, myself and mine.
I was going downtown to learn about, climbing the ladder some more,
Moving on up to the bigger and better, with my name on the golden door.

I sat in that room for hours and heard, much about nothing at all.
We each shared our wonderful thoughts on nothing, as we stared at a blue-gray wall.
We chatted ‘bout things that would help each one, be smarter and sharper and hot,
Things that would get us that number one chair, and that end-of-the-rainbow pot.

We finished our first round of chatting and stuff, and went to the Quarter to eat.
We dined and dined and dined some more, at Ralph’s off Decatur Street.
Even at lunch we talked some more, about titles, salaries and power.
We must have sounded like what we were, a bunch from the ivory tower.

As we continued to talk about nothing things, a Cal man caught my eye.
He challenged me out of my nothing day, and reminded me of why.
He reminded me of why I was there, to make it all better for me.
To make my way to the top of the heap, to be all I could be.

I watched the Cal man work the crowd, to get his daily bread.
I watched him sit on his well-worn bike, and I watched as he bowed his head.
I watched him as he finished the crumbs, and moved along the way.
I watched until he went behind, the Creole Room Cafe.

I didn’t hear much more of the talk, but thought of the portrait life draws.
His showed a search for half-eaten food, mine showed a search for applause.
Mine looked like the one that was blessed, his like the one that was cursed
But the thing I learned that day made for me, was that too much of me comes first.