When I am not seeking, I wander around. For some people, they call it loitering. For the law makers the rule is “No loitering, otherwise, you will be charge with vagrancy.”
I’m not really scared with this ruthless or useless law. For one, I know a lawyer, I can easily say, sue me or I’ll see you in court. If not, I have friends in higher places that will defend me, men with guns, aka, cops.
With my wandering round and about especially during coffee or lunch break, the Westside is residential area. There are a few residents I’ve met along the way and we are all on first name basis. Most of them are retired, leaving along. Some looked alone and lonely.
Ian was alone for most times. Talking to him was a challenge because he speaks in rhymes. I realized that he was telling me his poems. It took me awhile to understand his speech because he was toothless. Vagrant, he is not. He just sits at the park writing his thoughts of poetry down.
One day, he presented me a booklet of his poems, first edition. What a sweet man. I received more booklets from him over the years, yet, I don’t know anything personal about him. But he seemed to enjoy talking to me while I listen.
Recently, I have not seen him around. Until one day, I saw a fellow who lives in the same building as Ian. Ian passed away in October last year, he says.
This is a sample of Ian Rudkin’s poetry, page 23. My Song Is In My Step.
Spring is here and the weather is getting warmer. I will miss his presence sitting in the bench under the shade of maple tree. Farewell my friend.
Sense Beyond FuelingI’m responsible for myself;
I’m naturally at home.
Nature is my health
And symptom is this poem. I heed what I sense
And do what I eat.
I cause a few events
By work and not by feat. I cannot assume help
Especially what was error.
To help, I try to tell
Some insights, touch and caring. It seems a truth that women
Have far more sense than taste
In fact the sense for living
On which respect is based. Signed: Kind Wishes from Ian Rudkin