Fight the good fight

First, I was walking with a mission
Although
it was an aimless directionless mission
it was my mission and it bulstered me up
I was righteous with my task
My belly burned with hunger and fulfillment
Purpose

Coming across a young man
Wth grey hair and a conscientious heart
I stopped to let him preach to me
About saving people from torture
From the comfort of my own home
From the comfort of my bank account
For ten dollars a month

And I forget how much time has passed
Since I looked him in the eye
I am staring across the street at a news woman
And her cameraman.
I hope I look good and noble
Talking to this man with a cause
And think to make a mental note
To call, to say
Dad check the news on channel 4
I might be on it.

Then I finally do look him in the face
And realize
Its my turn to talk
And I stand there frozen
Caught as though I was
Clipping my toenails on
on the floor of his room
Staring out the window
I might have crawled through

This conversation is becoming
A cracked rubber band
Baking in the heat of its own importance
How odd to talk about money and torture
And long hours standing on the street
Without water or food, in the sun
It must be torture
And yet, I reject him
I shake his hand and walk away
Fight the good fight.