Your Poetry

The Human Touch

Last night
as we left the movie,
a huddled heap of humanity
hunched on the darkened cinema steps.

I didn’t notice him
until I saw my husband
bend down towards him
as he was slowly, painfully
picking up some dimes
someone had thrown,
or dropped, by his side.

My husband placed a handful
of change into his small hand.

His head came up swiftly,
Startled, surprised, incredulous.

Was it the money,

or that someone had
put it into his hand?

Muriel Squires
Thunder Bay, ON

Like to write? We’d love to print your poem. (Sorry…we can’t acknowledge or return submissions.) Send to: Poetry, Good Times, 4475 Frontenac, Montreal, QC, H2H 2S2, or goodtimes@bayardcanada.com

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