Man2 Poem by Don Pearson

He sat beside me
drawn into futility:
conversation,
gestures,
thought.

I knew who he was,
well-known, a scientist,
iconoclast,
catholic,
priest.

He cried beside me,
shown to have frailty,
human weakness,
denounced,
old.

A man of sorrows,
despised by the world,
wrongly condemned,
finished,
free.

He looked toward me,
willed me his compassion,
smiled a broad smile,
stood up,
fell.

May 2001