the miracle man

in this neighborhood
about 4 blocks north
and 2 south
sits a small house
paint peeling
and
weeds growing
in the front
yard

and
all about this
house
are
other houses
with perfect
green lawns
trimmed hedges
flowers
and
polished autos
sitting
in the drives.

“I like this
guy,” I tell Linda,
“I’d sure like to
see him, you know,
what he looks
like.”

“I’ve seen him,”
says Linda.

“yeah?   yeah?  how?
when?”

“twice.   and each time
it was the same.   he
was just sitting in
his window and he
had his hat on and
pulled down low
over his eyes.”

“beautiful,” I say,
“beautiful.”

I keep
driving by
hoping
to see him
but
I never do.
anyhow,
for me
he’s the salvation
of this neighborhood.

it’s when people
all
get the same
that
it gets useless

and here’s
this saint
without a name.