you slip into the high-viz
safety jacket, working
in the shadows of despair
to help us keep from
journeying into foolishness.
you hang up the blazer
to slip into a cardigan,
exchanging your dress shoes
for a pair of worn sneakers,
to sit on the floor with us,
telling stories, modeling imagination,
singing songs with lyrics
that linger for decades.
you avoid the spotlight,
simply walking through
the rows of seats bending low
and gently handing out
pieces of bread
and cups full of grace,
whispering,
‘see, it doesn't take
a lot of skill to do
this sort of thing.’
© 2025 Thom M. Shuman
Venmo: @Thom-Shuman
© 2025 Thom M. Shuman
Venmo: @Thom-Shuman
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