Sunday Collection

A shadow passed
Over the warm patch of earth
I worked in my front garden.
I looked up to see who or what
Darkened my little piece of Eden.
A gaunt, shirtless, towering figure
Stared silently at me,
Shading me from the sun.
Eventually ... "Got any beer bottles?"
Rasped its way passed his lips.
Empty Walmart cart waiting curbside.
Solemnly ... "I need to buy something to eat."
I had no big plans for the four dozen in my shed.
As the tatooed forty-something-year old
Followed me to the back garden,
I awkwardly attempted conversation,
Fumbling out something
About collecting beer bottles as "easy money".
With the hesitation before his answer
And the tone of his "Well ..."
I realized it must be far from easy
To "have to" collect them ...
I further stammer,
"Well, it's a pain in the arse, ah, ...
To go around collecting them, I suppose ...",
Embarrassed blood rushing to my face.
The trip from my shed back to the curb,
Carrying a couple cases of empties for him,
Informed me of how $1.20 a dozen
Can make a difference in a life.
As he loaded my donation
In his borrowed shopping cart,
I turned back to my flower beds.

A joyful exclamation from behind me -
"Hey, man, three of dese are full ...
Bet ya didn't know dat."
"Oh ... yeah ... huh ... first time I ever did that."
He didn't offer to return them to me;
Rather he graciously offered
To share one of "his" beers with me.
Without the heart ... nerve ... presence of mind ...
To say, "No, thank you",
I found myself sipping a warm beer
On the curb of Patrick Street on a Sunday,
Church spires sticking up all over the place,
Wondering what my neighbors,
Let alone any passing cops, would think,
Of me and my new friend
With the Wal-mart shopping cart.

What does one talk about
Over a sidewalk Sunday beer with a stranger?
"Welfare ... what's that good for?
You can't even feed yourself on that!
What's there for me to do here ... for money?
Pull off a few B & E's?"
He says, assuming I understand that as an option.
"I don't know why I came back here, man!
I had it made out west! I had me own car ...
I was dealing the dope!
There's nudding for me here!"
He started in on the remaining beer.
I nursed my piss-warm brew on the hot sidewalk,
Mostly nodding and adding sympathetic "Yes, b'y's",
Feeling quite inept in this conversation.

"But, ya know, something ..."
He says, giving a satisfied nod
Toward the serendipitous beer in his hand,
"I feels like my luck's gonna change.
I got a job lined up paintin' a house dis week.
I got a lottery ticket in my pocket here
and I haven't even checked dat yet!!"

As I turned the soil in my garden,
To the receding sound
Of a Wal-mart cart of rattling bottles,
I wondered had I drank
Three more beer the night before
Would I have gained more
Than the insight
Of this Sunday collection.

Michael Coady © 2001