I Prefer Thaddeus

 

“I prefer Thaddeus” he said.

A poor fit as a name

for a man of bone and rags

fallen on hard slabs

of urban paving.

 

A hat, some coins and

a strangely-well written placard

stopped me short in the rain,

with a present in my pocket

and fuel-perfumed flowers in hand.

 

I doubled the sum in his cap,

it would not have bought a loaf.

I asked his name. He laughed,

“Name something and fear it less.”

His smile held me in place.

 

The wind blew rain on my glasses,

the neon made him shimmer,

“Some call me Jude, others Judas,”

He opened his coat and showed me

rows of watches,chains and rings...

 

I drew back in horror,

stepped in standing water,

splashed ooze upon his blanket.

He shook his head, “Look!

Look closer, these are lost things”.

 

And every piece, gew-gaw to Rolex

had a tag upon it,

ink unsullied by the rain,

each inscribed in copperplate

with someone, somewhere’s name.

 

He held the coat open wider

pointed at a locket,

the name was one I knew,

one written on my pocket gift

of nothing bought in love.

 

My wallet was empty,

my pockets bare of even copper.

He smiled, “I prefer Thaddeus”.

I offered my box of gimcrack

and brought your locket home.