Donal Mahoney- A Poem

Body Bag

I'm on my way to Larry’s Place, 

a food pantry in the city. 

I park a block away because 

parking in front of Larry’s

isn’t wise even if one drives 

a clunker. My old Buick 

almost qualifies as that.

It’s getting up in years

but still able to get around. 

I’m wobbling in the middle of

two shopping bags of food 

my wife found in our pantry.

Someone at Larry’s Place can 

take it home and have a meal. 

If they have a home. Not all do. 

Certainly not the fellow sleeping 

on the bench outside Larry’s 

in a black body bag, the zipper 

slightly ajar so he can breathe.

Lots of people go in and out

but no one bothers him. 

I go in, drop off my bags and 

exchange pleasantries with Larry. 

He says business is too good. 

He says the guy in the body bag

is a new arrival from out of town,

suggests I have a chat with him.

His story is remarkable, Larry says.

On the way out I see the fellow 

in the body bag is sitting up.

I give him five bucks 

and he asks if I want to hear 

the story about his body bag. 

I say I’d like to but I’m rushed,

that I’ll be back tomorrow with

my notebook and camera and

I’ll pay him. After all, everyone 

has to make a living. Or find 

their food at Larry’s Place.

——————————————————

Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, Missouri.