by Eric Kregel
I stand cold, stand in a shadow, stand in the wind- getting a smoke,
Two women stride out, into my cold morning, cold day,
Wearing shelter coats, transporting a sign and duct tape, rolled up and hidden and covered
from the cold,
I know them; they know me-
Always trying to get me into the shelter-it’s warm, they say-but I don’t like
their rules-
But I know them; they know me.
They fuss and unfurl and stretch the sign against the dirty, brown, brick wall.
“No Smoking”
Can I help you?- I ask; Sure, as they say my name.
We wrestle the sign against the cold wind, ice bites wherever my skin exposed,
The duct tape clamps against the plastic and brick, bonding for today,
They press down; I hold the sign; we laugh as the glue does it’s job.
Can’t you stay tonight in the shelter?, they ask. It’s -30c tonight.
No, I say. Don’t like the rules. But I might, they know me and I know them.
Maybe. When they leave, I continue my smoke.
I am an Anglican Priest and a Chaplain for the Mustard Seed, a charity that works to eliminate poverty in the city of Edmonton. I was born and raised in California, USA and immigrated from LA to High Prairie, AB in 2005. I currently live in Edmonton. I am writer of both science fiction, poetry, philosophy, theology, and humour. I have one novel published “Exhaust from the Tin Woods”. You can check out my blogs, poems, and essays here: https://ericjkregel.wordpress.com/
Capital City Press Anthology 