Deliverance

On a Cambridge sidewalk a man in a wheelchair 
hawks a pamphlet about Christ returning.
He tries to catch the attention of passersby,
most of whom don’t meet his eye as he intones
“Young lady” this or “Young man” that,
wagging an index finger to make his point.

A rail-thin guy wearing a Vietnam vet cap 
over greasy gray shoulder-length hair rattles 
change in a plastic cup. He looks expectantly 
at business people and students who clip past him.
Muttering, he empties the cup and counts the coins,
then scoops them back in and starts shaking again.

Standing on the corner of Mass. Ave and Brattle,
I wait for the traffic light and imagine Jesus
returning: he’d mount the stairs from the Red Line,
slip a fifty in the cup, heal the hawker, and then all three 
would walk arm-in-arm around the Square, celebrating 
the Christ Jesus is back and he’s brought some friends.

Academics would look warily through the wrought 
iron fence of Harvard Yard, politicians would cringe
as Jesus walked to a podium in front of the Coop
to announce the new order: “Everyone gets a meal
at 6:00,” he says. “It’s on the house. And get ready 
to roll up your sleeves: I’ve been away a long time.”