I walk the dirt-path loop around
Wright Park, Tacoma, & I'm get-ting into stride & then I hear the steps
behind me: they're far too purposeful--
I sense aggression. And with dog in tow
a man comes up beside me. His face, I think,
unkindly, looks like an angry boil.
His rant: "Good morning, sir, hey did
you see the derelicts down there? No one's
supposed to sleep inside the park at night!
They need to clear them out! If all of us
don't follow rules, anarchy's bound to rise.
And sir, you'd better store your food and
medicine--sufficient for two weeks! You
hear those helicopters overhead? 'They'
are about to shut It down!"
And then the guy plus dog are past
me--gone. After the walk I go
for groceries. And there's the cashier with
the close-cropped hair--for she's just gone
though chemo treatment. The line is stuck
because her customer is having issues with
her credit card.
My turn at last.
"So sorry for the wait," she says.
I say, "No problem, it's okay,"
and she responds, "You know,
you have to help somebody sometimes."
Now there's a rule that we might follow--
oh, yes, a sentimental thought. But still
unless you're building shelter for unsheltered
folk, you'd better let the "derelicts"
sleep where they can. I go outside
with groceries, don't hear the helicopters.
hans ostrom 2025
