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The poems

© 2010-2013

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The man in the auto salvage lot
Said it was too late
By the time he saw something
Erupting in flames
In the empty field next door
And then realized it was a man
A live human being
Self-immolating over there
Flailing out of a fiery tent
In his little makeshift camp
Beneath the “Free Internet Access” billboard
By the time the first responders came
He was gone
They found him, sitting
Arms stretched upwards
Crucified without a cross
The auto-salvage guy
Said it didn’t seem as if the man
Moved as fast as one would guess
A man on fire would move

Later, as they searched the space
Where he had lived
They found clothes, neatly folded
Food easy to prepare
On a small camp stove
A cooler – the kind you use for tailgating –
And an empty vial
Medication commonly prescribed
For people with schizophrenia

Meanwhile
The debate flourished
About whether and where
To put the ballpark
With multi-million-dollar private boxes
The proposed site
Was within spitting distance
Of the charred tent
The neatly folded clothes
The empty vial
The lost life
That we could not afford to keep