David Chorlton

David Chorlton was born in Austria, grew up in England, and spent several years in Vienna before moving to Phoenix in1978. He enjoys listening to very old music, birding, and hiking in the Arizona landscape. Along with poems in magazines, he has a list of chapbook publications with Places You Can’t Reach (Pudding House Publications, 2006) being the latest, and recent books: A Normal Day Amazes Us (Kings Estate Press, 2003), Return to Waking Life (Main Street Rag Publishing Company, 2004), and Waiting for the Quetzal (March Street Press, 2006).

First Night at the Shelter

 

The line at the shelter just before seven

runs along a fence and back

around the corner of a building

whose beds are already filled. Patience

is the ticket, and waiting

becomes so easy as to make the time

pass gently. Some men are reading, others

talk in low voices about a bus ride

they took long ago that brought them

to this city in the sun, whose winters

are the kindest roof they can hope for,

each with his bag or a bundle

tied together with resignation. Women too

stand in shoes so heavy

it hurts to walk. The first bus stops,

fills up, and pulls away

for an unnamed destination

as the night chill drifts across the faces

of those remaining. This will be your first ride,

the night you never expected

to fall, when you go to sleep in the company

of strangers and share a meal

cooked over slow hunger. Your appointment

book is folded as small

as your insurance card, and tucked

into a pocket with a five dollar bill

and change that gets smaller

each time you count it, the way

news bulletins lose significance

once you have come this far. A few blocks away

a different world exists in the same city

as the one you now inhabit,

where the mail never comes and the clock

has a minute hand only. Your bus

arrives. It purrs to offer comfort

as you climb aboard, and you know

it is the best you can hope for

when your return address

is your memory.