A Bag of Shit
By Gene Aronowitz
A bag of shit fell from the sky
and landed on my consciousness.
I heard a whistling and flapping sound
above our fence,
announcing the arrival
of a tightly tied plastic bag
tossed from the passageway behind
our home in Brooklyn
alighting next to me
on a fragrant bush
of Yankee Lady Roses.
I don’t know homelessness
from the inside but during many
agonizing encounters with inaccessible
restrooms in midtown Manhattan,
I knew what it was
to have no toilet,
needing someone to understand and
be kind.
