POLITICAL Poem: GHOST WALKERS, by Dale E. Ritterbusch

Even in the heart of the city,
house crammed next to house,
there are visitations, unexpected
at times, otherwise a regular visit
as of a neighbor or friend dropping by.
Raccoon, opossum, once a lone fox
hunted the backyard, the woodpile
nursing a new brood of rabbits.
And the stray cats, one once captured,
ear clipped, neutered, given the requisite shots
by the local animal shelter; she shies away,
looks in the patio door to see
if anyone will put out some food.
It is the lesson of St. Francis,
the lesson of loaves and fishes,
the Samaritan’s responsibility.
Down the street, the Salvation Army
aids the distressed, but no shelter.
Men walk the streets, some in contemplation,
some in repetitive prayer, others, perhaps,
revisiting their lives, each step a turn
into the past. They walk the same streets,
the same time each day, stop at a corner,
look both ways but don’t see,
as others don’t see, men as invisible as ghosts.
In the backyard, someone new
forages for food.

Author: poetryfest

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