Amazed by gifts from Democrats and God
and unions, strangers, toddlers bearing half-
dead dandelions still with clinging sod
(it shamed him, this excess on his behalf),
he'd eat his simple meals with zest and then
would cross himself. "Thanks be to God," he said
and loved his food, his life, his fellow men,
the minimum wage from the thirties 'til he was dead.
Sometimes when I was young I almost said,
"That's plain old food like everyone gets, you know,
from Mike O'Connor's. Some are better fed
who never lavish thanks like you bestow."
But now I wish that I could comprehend
what made him think he was his god's best friend.
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