His Name is Chris

His name is Chris and knowing that

Alters my experience of him.

He is no more a nobody,

Non-entity or non-person.

Each day he sits on tarmac ground

Close to where the pampered dogs pee.

No longer begging from strangers,

He merely asks for assistance

From someone who now knows his name.

His name is Chris and knowing that

Changes the way I see him now.

Chris is real and cannot be made

Unreal or somehow made unknown.

I walk past pretending he is

Not there, not in need, not asking

For loose change or the price of a

Cup of coffee on a cold day.

Knowing his name draws me into

A connection that seeps inside.

A relationship I never

Sought but cannot simply shake off.

His name is Chris and I know that.

Everyday he sits outside on

His dirty nylon sleeping bag.

Buddha like he seems detached from

The ignoring looks of people

Quickly striding past, distracted,

Resolute in avoiding eyes

That see into their broken hearts.

His name is Chris and knowing that

Strips me of all cold detachment.

Damn Chris, and his name, giving me

A kinship I never wanted.

- Eamonn Kirke