Beauty is in the eyes of the accused,
The unwanted, the throw-away people
Of Columbia Road.
I say "Look at his eyes;
they're shot
With blood and shifty.
I can't trust him with my
money.
He's too drunk and he's
just lazy.
When he sobers up someday,
Maybe then l'll be able to
tell he's clean
By his eyes."
But in those eyes,
Not someday or on Sunday
(when I feel like a Father who
scolds with a gift),
Not someday,
But Now does beauty live in those eyes!
Those eyes that shift-- Yes!
And dance with delight
At the glance of a loving stranger
With food and a kind word.
Those eyes that burn
And holler back
At their accusers
With righteous rage
And questioning anger.
Those are the beautiful eyes of the accused,
The unwanted, the thrown-away people
Of Columbia Road.
By Tim Cashman of Falls Church VA has been a volunteer at Christ House, an infirmary for street people in Washington, DC.