FOLLOWING GOD

FOLLOWING GOD

Ricardo Antonio Garcia

The dead dust in Los Angeles

only survives by the weightless air, floating

with or without a life, we will never know.

Entering a window

at a run down Motel somewhere out here

Baloney sandwiches

feed a family of four without a provider.

No forks or spoons

or even a skillet to warm the cans

piled against the flaking wall.

Misery has found a place to be.

One look in their eyes

tells you of a disease called poverty.

Pimps banging on her door

want her to work and join the lot.

Somehow she resists

and asked why she will tell you ‘God’.

Watching her from a Diner across the street

I remember days such as these

lost and afraid and contemplating suicide.

If it wasn’t for a guitar

and the ability to write a song I’d be gone now.

I went to the check out

and I ordered two large pizzas to go.

I put them in front of my carrying arms

and walked to the Motel door.

The woman opened the door with a baby

sleeping against her shoulder.

I gently said:

Did you pray for these?

She wept- oh my did she weep.

I even cried with her.

The thank you’s never ended- still ringing in my ear

following God to whomever needs me.