Human Resources

Human ResourcesThe decent men adore a summons.They pass a face gone paper-thin, acoat rehearsing its surrender atevery seam, and find themselvesunmoved.

Yet let a hand rise slightly, let onedry question cross a lip, andsuddenly they're lanterns.

See how they brighten. See howthe pockets open. See how thetale begins.

Afterward they'll stack the memorywith their certificates and tax slips.A keepsake.

A brass button polished from thewreck;I have seen dogs nose sleeping strangersto make certain breath remains.No audience. No invoice.

The decent men require introduction.A little ceremony.A name tag pinned to misery.

Otherwise the hunger stays anonymous,which is to say someone else's.No.Keep the loaf.Keep the paternal thumb pressed in its crust.I am trying to measure something.Whether the eye moves firstor the conscience.Whether kindness walksor waits to be called.And if I stiffen here like winter fruit forgotten on a branch,leave me there.The answer will have arrived already.