Sons and Daughters

Going door-to-door, delivering flyers for a realtor,I stop to watch a man twist and crouch, turn himself upand kick to no song you can hear. Cars honk passing by.

Remember, my mother said, when I pointed outa homeless man, He's some poor woman's son.She wanted me to feel the guilt of any mother

because a man, no matter how old, is his mother's sonalways. She told me of a woman whohadn't seen her son for years. The woman found him,

took him home, fed him, and purchased new clothes.But he wouldn't live under her roof, he liked sleepingoutside. Then, one day, he was simply gone.

She'll die of a broken heart, my mother said;Like a dog to its own vomit, some return.And it's true, I've seen dogs spit and lick up

what remains in a wet pile before them, guarding itwith an abandon no love will come between.It's hard, pitying men.