Poem: Mind Drift

  I see myself in the constancy of other lives.

Mind Drift

His mind drifts to the homeless man in Chicago,
    killed as he slept in his pile of rags,
    with a hunting arrow, steel shafted, razor tipped
For curiosity perhaps, or mindless perversity,
    or for the hell of it,
    just to watch him die

The a little boy in Yellowstone, four or five years old,
    pushed eagerly toward a bull elk by his father,
    as though the wild thing were Disney-tame
Innocently stupid, a thoughtless thing,
    Putting a trusting child
    in harm’s way

And his mind drifts to the lives that he has touched,
    wonders if they felt the same cold shaft
    and the shove of his hand against their back
Poetry Collection: The Smell of Tweed and Tobacco
This poem is included in
Jim Freeman's
poetry collection


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