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Do you recognize me, under this collection of second-hand thread?

I am not sure if you do, maybe my image has exited your head.

Gaze back into your memories, stored in the cobwebs of your brain,

give it some time, even though my request may sound insane.


Am I your Junior High School teacher, who taught you History,

or an English professor who introduced you to works of mystery?

Might I be someone, who sat next to you during school lunch,

any clues yet my old friend, do you have a feeling, a hunch?


Maybe I was your neighbor, in the house just across the street,

of course, I look different now, since I have had little to eat.

Do you remember the young clerk, at the old corner store,

who carried your mother’s groceries, saving you the chore?


Might I be an associate of yours, who sat in a cubicle near the aisle,

you might have forgotten my face, it’s been quite a while?

Perhaps, I am your former boss, the one you really used to hate,

if that is the case, I hope you can find it in your heart to fill my plate.


No matter to me, about the person I used to be in the past,

I now exist on the street, where each meal could be my last.

If you could please believe me when I say, I could be anyone,

a father, an uncle, cousin, or even a nephew or your son.


After thinking it over, if you decide to ignore my sincere request,

let me first ask one more question, before putting this matter to rest.

If you were in my place, living out on the street in the cold,

would you hope someone would remember you, truth be told?



Poem by David Andre Davison

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