A Certain Kind of Holy Men
Not every wino is a Holy Man.
Oh, but some of them are.
I love those who've learned
to sit comfortably
for long periods with their hams
pressed against their calves,
with a wall for a back-rest,
contentedly saying nothing.
These move about only when
on foot, and almost always
I think of them as oblates.
Christ's blood is in their veins
or they thirst for it.
They have looked into the eyes
unprotected by smoked glass.
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Comments about this poem (A Certain Kind of Holy Men by Alden Nowlan )
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