On the way back from meeting some friends in Wrigleyville tonight, a homeless guy sat down next to me on the train and claimed that he would improv a poem on any topic I could offer for some money. Curious and amused, I said okay. Without more than a second’s hesitation, the guy composed a delicious poem that probably would have taken me hours to write out with a keyboard sitting in front of me. We talked for the remainder of the train ride about faith, trying to be like Christ, and how we personally have fallen short or feel like we still struggle. It was a great exchange, and I am glad he decided to sit down next to me. In many ways it was a humbling conversation — I can’t improv poetry – it would be a disaster. Even the draft I had jotted down of a poem earlier this evening was disastrous compared to the quite eloquent little ditty he pulled out of nowhere.
It was another great day and has ended on a strange, unexpected note.
Sarah Marie Wells 