Days after that gorgeous September Tuesday
when the towers fell
and the world changed
I got off my bike on 14th Street.
Outside the Salvation Army
a veritable army was unloading trucks.
“Goods for the First Responders,”
I heard, and offered my services.

No one said “No,”
though no one said “Yes.”
The mob was enthusiastic,
growing, mindless,
moving water bottles
and towels
and clothes
and toys
from place to place
corner to wall.
I joined the fray.

We did what we could,
we of the amorphous sprawl,
with little direction
from the Salvation’s staff.
We transported things
with no comprehension of what we were doing
or who we were helping.
We just hoped we were helping.

When I think back
on my do-goodery
I am proud
and embarrassed.
I don’t know who got the toys
or what good they were intended to do.
We all wanted to get involved
and the Army
allowed us opportunity to enact
our benevolence
on that street corner.

It’s doubtful
anyone downtown
appreciated our efforts
or were even acquainted with them.
But we felt
at that moment
that we were part of the process,
part of the solution.