A Moment in a City

A seagull in silhouette--

it glides across sky's last light.
Unsheltered, a woman stirs
beneath blankets in a shop's
entryway. Uncovered,
her face is leathered and red.
Cars roll by, roll on.
The sound of their engines underlies
all we hear on the sidewalk.

We're among the living today,
the ones cast in this play,
humanity, but local to this moment's
scene. The shapes of moments
shift constantly. None of us passing
helps the woman. Should I go back
and give her money at least?
The shadow of the seagull is long gone.

hans ostrom 2023

He Wheels His Worldly Goods

He wheels his worldly goods

now in a chair 
his mother sat in as he pushed her
along sidewalks and into shops
not far from her small place where
he slept on the couch, and helped her out.

She died, all leases up, and so
he's back on streets, in parks,
and underneath the tarp he carries
with him. He washes up wherever
he can. --Getting by,

getting warm when possible in
a world where people try like hell
to look away. The barrier between
the sheltered and unsheltered seems
high to them. A few toss money over it.

He could tell them (but he never does)
with what ease a person can slip down
the ladder. A little illness and some
depression, or psychosis, add some
loss of work and a broken web of friends
and family--and that will do the trick.

One night you're sleeping in your car.
And then you have to sell the car for cash.
And then you're pushing all you have
in a chair your ma used to sit in
as she encouraged you not to lose hope.

hans ostrom 2023

"Recent Storms"

The man in Maui said the recent storms
had ripped away sand and shortened beaches.
We were looking at one of the beaches.
It was narrow all right.

In what's called the distance, a humpback
whale lifted itself up, curved, went
back under, flipping its tail
in so doing: a thick, black Y.

Not incidentally at all,
a minah bird hopped onto grass
carrying a dead dragon fly.
The bird swallowed it,

taking the bulbous head first.
It stretched tall to get it all
down the pipe and expressed
liquid defecation in a quick

Latinate stream onto green.
We live inside a multitude
of dynamic systems, the man
said. He was homeless, and two

security-guards eyed him, us. That
we do, sir, I said. And
I gave him a fiver for his
journey, and everything changes form.


Hans Ostrom 2015

Sacramento Capitol Mall

Politicos stride like totalitarian colonels.

Professionals lean into conversations

about cash-flow, internal control, and impact (a verb).

Winos stand against a wall and shiver

their way out of hallucination,

their shirt-fronts soaked with the Lamb's

most inexpensive blood; bums pick through rubbish

and sleep under news; the mad testify

to streetlights and themselves.

No one runs for office anymore

except the staffs of those who ran before.

They govern each other and whisper about us.

Sunlight remains democratic.

We walk in it together

between the muddy river and the capitol.

We are lobbyist and lunatic, accountant and pickpocket,

admin-assistant, tech-person, plumber,

and Ph.D. student writing about

power-relationships.

I find myself wondering not at all

about the powerful. I focus on a trembling hand

that picks through garbage. I fork over

a few bucks to the hand's person.

who gargles the words, "God bless you."

 Somewhere there’s a photo

of that man when he was six years old

and squinting at the camera, happy in a summer

in another state.

Maybe you finally come to hate poverty

enough to pursue it as an art;

maybe a thousand left hooks in the downtown gym

finally leave your brain fizzed like pink champagne,

and you're on the street mumbling to a corner man

who isn't there. Or somebody dies, and your way

of understanding that is to let go the things

that hint of looking forward,

including the grammar of love,

and love of self, and taking tomorrow straight.

Yeah, so, I gave him a few bucks, which will

go for booze, not a sandwich, and I don’t care

because it’s not my money anymore,

and as the Capitol might whisper,

it never was. 

Copyright 2013 hans ostrom