By David johnston
The day brisk, but the sun bright.
A mid-winter in Portland holds true.
I am walking. Walking for walking's sake.
Walking to take in the sights and sounds
And to remember the many days
Spent in this city as a boy, growing here, living here.
A Cement playground, the city has not changed in the least.
I look ahead, across the street a middle-aged man stands;
I see pedestrians walk by, ignoring his pleas.
His pleas to live.
He holds a sign with four simple words, "will not buy beer."
A comical line, until closely examined.
Is this what it has come down to?
Do people need assurance before helping someone?
I ponder this question as I pass the man.
I look into him, deeply into his eyes I stare,
Seeing a broken yet noble man.
He has done nothing to deserve this.
Yet he stands with honor, unafraid of rejection,
Unafraid of society's judgment.
He holds onto the sign with a vengeance,
Knowing without it, society will reject him,
Cast him out to freeze on the streets.
The Sign.
And I cannot help but wonder why,
Why we judge.