Compiling God's Code

Across the intersection,
waiting for my light
in my truck, eating an ice cream,
I see him hobble;
I see him holding a foam cup.

Created by my creator
molded from his mold
born with desires
he is a man.

They roll up their windows,
fiddle with their radios,
and scooch up their cars,
pretending not to notice,
he, who, stands plainly in their sight.

Born of my God
a soul, a brother
just a street fixture
smells – yes… threatening – maybe.

I think it might rain.
I heard winter could return,
and there he stands without any shoes.
Fear is an easy answer
to a question of Christianity.

Acknowledge him for Pete’s sake!
Do something than look the other way!
“Whatever you did for one of the LEAST
of these brothers of mine, you did for me.”

Their light turns green.
As he weaves through traffic,
back to the curb,
some glance his way, worried,
of only denting their cars.

If I had been on that side
of the intersection –

Oh, my light is green.
I turn towards my destination.
If I didn’t have to do a u-turn,
if traffic wasn’t so congested,
I would go back…
but my ice cream is melting,
and my family waits for me at home.