The Charity Kitchen

First of a series

I have been here for hours, waiting patiently
For my one sure hot meal today!
As seven AM creeps closer and the sleepy sun
Slowly climbs high enough to lighten the shadows.

Others concealed from me earlier by darkness
Are revealed as hulking shadows of once proud men,
Who now wait for a meal and a little something extra
No one is alone here or leaves hungry.

The Charity Kitchen by the bridge opens soon,
I can smell the coffee in the shiny stainless urns.
And oatmeal, grits, sausage patties and eggs,
Steaming warmly on the other side of the doors.

I am slowed by encroaching blindness.
Aided perhaps by a degree of stubbornness;
I come, I go, pretty much undisturbed by anyone.
If I am early, I eat! No option of laziness.

They like me here, I wash dishes,
Scrub pots, and mop floors.
If they see me before the morning rush,
I can enter by a side door, eat and go to work.

***********

After 300 breakfasts
Trays and stainless shine
The coffeepots gleam
The floor is clean.

The Government left 20 cans
Of Surplus cheese
Should I feel like a rat If
I take a can with me?

There is a bakery outlet
Just up the street
They have day old
Loaves for  ten cents
 
Bread and cheese
That I'll share with anyone
Who has a bottle of wine
Sort of like communion.

Huddled in our sanctuary
By the crumbling brick wall
We give silent thanks
And share the rich repast.