Ice fog shielded him somehow
from outside cold stares.
Footsteps slushed past his bus shelter.
Forcing him to abandon his blanket.
And the boxed styrofoam leftovers
of another last supper.
But. He was wrong about that.
It wasn’t his last.
Three signs turned up.
A day like any other.
But there they were. One after the other.
Two glowed neon red and gold
blazing like a billion matches.
Warming the poor Bethlehem of his soul.
Angel Squad the first one read.
He blinked. Wondered if help was truly on the way.
Then, a second sign, huge letters
reminding him of times forgotten.
T. L. C. it said.
Heart ache. Strange. Was there any love left?
In a cold world. He had his doubts.
Then a third sign. As if giving him a last chance.
Uncomely. Plain. Pressed in glass.
No bright lights. Plastic letters.
Stiff black, like his new n’used shoes.
Outside a streetcorner church, sign said:
God lives here.
So he walked in. Just checkin’. They listened.
No company of angels. Just people who cared.
That was the day he began living.
Over. Again. Square one.
No past. Only future. Now.
Forgiving. Letting go. Cycle courier.
Good with street signs.
© 2012 S. Michaels
Seven Love Stories – Dan & Isabel