Aaron Poochigian

UNROMANTIC

In a torn hoodie, out of spite, a beggar is alive tonight beneath great failure and a gruff snowstorm. He can’t get small enough. Look how that innocence of his diminishes, diminishes as no hand ever offers up even a quarter for his cup. It’s hard to grin and keep the faith when threads from Goodwill on West 8th can’t keep the bitter from the bone. None of us should be that alone. I know his story: from the prairie. He lives on eleemosynary pittances but won’t go back, since, out of spite, in spite of hack, spit, shivers and a telltale fever, he is the truest true believer that ever took a Greyhound bus to Penn Station to be with us. I, who have starved, like him, in hope, have nothing much to help him cope with hunger, unsuccess, hard times: just poetry and a couple dimes.—from Rattle #77, Fall 2022

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Aaron Poochigian: “Auden said, ‘Poetry makes nothing happen.’ I don’t agree with him but, more and more, I find myself wanting to, more immediately, make the world a better place. That is: I have poetry but it is not enough. All I can afford to do right now is foster kittens.” (web)

Related* “Strawberry Fields” by Aaron Poochigian * “Centralia, PA” by Aaron Poochigian * “The Countdown” by Aaron Poochigian