Lost in Toronto among strangers. K wouldn't be picking me up, Not three hours late. No matter how much I insisted he would, He would not come. P and J had listened through the night To my protestations, My excuses for my friend's behaviour. A hundred reasons or one; it hardly mattered. He was caught in traffic Looking out the window on the empty street They understood Three hours working together, While I waited for a ride, Talking, trading stories, Friends. Still they tried to pay me, Offered to drive me home. They didn't understand my faith, That work is worship. My role was to serve the world. I was not to be served. It was they who needed help, Not I. This was long ago, Long enough that I'm glad K didn't pick me up. That night my new friends helped me To accept that I need help. I can't be an island, Alone, If I want to have my friends.
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This work is Copyright (c) Mike Fletcher 1992