The poor man sits begging,
in the archway between a Dublin
car park and the via dolorosa
to the shopping mall
where whats now is in
before it goes green bin.
Its transience faster than yesterday.
I had not a lot to give but stopped to talk.
He was twenty eight, a failed pharmacy student
who thought, drugs were cool. He packed life in
to stay cool and instead of dispensing he is
dispensed, as gingerly the race goes on.
The poor man at the pool of Bethseda awaits the
swirl in conversation, in acknowledgment
that he was born and baptised, confirmed and condemned.
'thanks for talking to me, sometimes i'm invisible.'
That he is here is resurrection for him,
his easter moment when whats dead is given life.
He was caught in the rush
but awaits the swirl of the water
by the angels hand that heals.
Easter day and Resurrection
not in another land and time,
but in the laneway,
between the car park
and the shopping mall.