A Good Man

The weather was a chill of numbing
in its creeping
from bone to muscle, no longer

bothersome, picked up reinforcements
a short while ago
in his closet, the best from
Salvation Army, selected
a woolen sweater
heavier jacket, scarf and
ear-flap hat, now back on the

street, two newspaper bags a-bouncing
arms marching by his sides

happy again, reddened cheeks
glowing
like a fireplace, same
as uncle’s cabin in the hills.

Only twenty-seven, full of steam,
yes-sir, used to call him
‘retarded’
in early school days, not now
“No sir, No way”

‘cause he’s the boss of himself.
Heads down the street
to his first paper customer, looks
forward to shouting

“Good morning mister!”

© Richard L. Provencher
Website: www.wsprog.com/rp/

First published September 11-12, 2004
“Poetry on a Post”
Junction Arts Festival, Toronto, Ontario