At the Corner of Yonge and Damascus

Palm pressed palm and he
blessed me, this man
on Yonge Street, neat despite
the sidewalk for his throne,
concrete his castle, and
the empty cup gilded with
quarters, dimes and nickels
his scepter. He
looked up and said,
“My name is Paul,” and
I though I
saw Damascus
in his eyes.


10 thoughts on “At the Corner of Yonge and Damascus

  1. shoreacres says:

    Part of the power of this is the eye-to-eye, palm-to-palm contact that’s described. Even the conversation, short as it is, stands as a reminder: these people we prefer not to see are, after all, human beings: quite capable of being in relationship, and capable to initiating change.

  2. diannegray says:

    Very powerful Allen. I often wonder about people’s stories and how they end up as they do. There was a man who used to run down the highway in our area and he lived in the mountains. Rumor had it that he was the eccentric son of a former Russian princess. We called him Tarzan because he was always without a shirt and looked very fit. People became interested in him and after a lot of investigation it was found he really was the the son of the Russian princess! I saw him jogging down the highway sporadically with his sack over his shoulder over a period of about 30 years. I never stopped when I saw him, but now I’m older I often wish I had taken the time to talk to him.

    • agjorgenson says:

      Wow, what a great story! I would think that it could be fodder for a novel, or a short story perhaps. I don’t always stop to speak to folk on the corner, but am generally glad when I have done so!

  3. I appreciate the humanity in the concrete imagery.

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