Down By the Library

Summary

The text is a prose poem reflecting on a group of men outside a library, contemplating societal perceptions and the narrator's personal reflections on life and camaraderie.

Abstract

The poem "Down By the Library" paints a vivid picture of worn-out men congregating outside a library, basking in the rare February sun and sharing budget beer and cigarettes. The narrator initially reacts with disdain, suggesting the scene warrants police intervention, but is gently rebuked by a companion who sees no harm in the men's gathering. The narrator then fantasizes about joining the men, romanticizing their hardships and the wisdom they might possess. The poem culminates in a moment of realization that the men, despite their rough exterior, are each doing their best to navigate life's challenges. The narrator's internal struggle between judgment and empathy is resolved in a shared moment of human connection when one of the men acknowledges their common humanity.

Opinions

The narrator initially harbors a judgmental attitude towards the men outside the library, suggesting a societal bias against the less fortunate.
There is a sense of nostalgia and idealization of the men's lifestyle, as the narrator imagines trading their own comforts for the perceived freedom and wisdom of the street.
The narrator's companion represents a more accepting and compassionate perspective, challenging the initial judgment passed on the men.
The poem conveys a transformative moment where the narrator recognizes the shared struggle of humanity, regardless of social status.
The use of language like "scarred heroes" and "hobo secrets" indicates a deep respect and fascination for the lives and experiences of the men, contrasting with the earlier disparaging remarks.
The poem suggests that people like the narrator, who are quick to judge, are recognized and understood by those they judge, highlighting a universal sense of awareness and resilience among the men.

Prose poem based on some almost true events

Image by Hamza Machoune on Shutterstock.com

They gather there the worn-out men out front of the library in the parkette inhaling a rare February sun with reservation cigarettes and giant cans of Labatt’s Blue speaking in hoarse rough voices that are gentle too

Faces rough and cracked as winter gravel from days and nights in the weather no doubt without the moisturizing salve that keeps my skin supple as fine Corinthian leather

I see them and harrumph Jesus, kids come to this place Somebody should call the cops you shake your head and smile like my mother would when I didn’t quite understand They’re not hurting anyone

I roll my eyes at you We cannot just accept chaos, my love

But some days I wish chaos would accept me I could join them there swap my local organic microbrew IPA for a six of bargain beer a poverty pack, we’d sneer when we were kids who’d never missed a meal

Perhaps, I think these scarred heroes of the street warriors with lessons to teach would greet me with a comrade’s eyes and gift me their hobo secrets of life without compromise and wisdom seeped in through wounds that don’t heal

But they heard what I said and they know people like me anyway one of them coughs a cloud of smoke squints, and says fuck, man, we’re all just doing the best we can.

The poetry I wrote so far:

Down By the Library

Prose poem based on some almost true events

Poetry

Edit description