Approaching the door, you can already
hear his generous laughter.
He stands on the bar upside down for a moment
to get a new perspective on things,
a flash of polka-dotted boxers
as his brown robe cascades over his head,
sandaled toes wiggling in the air in time with
a fiddle playing in the corner.
Rain falls heavily in the deepening darkness
and he orders a round of drinks
despite his vow of poverty and the single silver coin
in his pocket, multiplied by the last Guinness poured.
Nothing like a good glass of wine, he gleefully says,
heavy Italian accent echoing through the room,
he holds it up to the overhead light, pausing for a moment
lost in its crimson splendor, breathes deeply.
At ease among fishmongers and plumbers,
widows and college students, and the
single mother sneaking out for a moment
of freedom from colic, cries, and diapers.
As the wind blows rain sideways, in come the
animals, benvenuti to pigeons, squirrels, seagulls, crows,
and the neighborhood cat balding from mange,
a chorus of yowls, coos, caws, and meows arising,
all huddle around him. No one objects to the growing
menagerie, just glad to be dry and warm.
He clinks glasses all around, no one left out.
Poem used with permission of author.
Icon of St. Francis of Assisi by artist Marcy Hall. See more of Marcy’s artwork on Etsy, or follow her on Facebook and Instagram.
