Giving

Twice a year we would reach out

To the parents of those housed here.

As always the money was tight,

And rehab centers need more than benedictions.

Given that we were keeping their children

From jail, or the street, we expected help.

Saturday mornings were best for interviews,

Few parents were working or churching.

Orlando’s mother took two buses to get here.

A single, cleaning lady with two other children.

Orlando, one year into treatment, was still a turd,

Unwilling to give up his mask.

Broken for drugs and robbery,

He’d chosen to be here rather than prison.

I should tell his mom to save her $25.00 per month,

Her oldest child was a lousy investment.

Leroy Hayes was a different story.

His father ought to be grateful.

Leroy now ran the lawn-care crew,

Brought in money, and was a smart, good kid.

He’d chosen to enter treatment two years ago

And was likely to stay on as staff.

Dad, the banker, explained his inability to help out.

Two houses meant two mortgages. No cash left.

I was lucky, a board volunteer helping out.

I was not tasked with arm wrestling eighteen year-olds

Into changing their truly self-destructive script

For a shot at something better.