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Edward, a resident of the Frederic Ozanam House,
reads a poem written by Kenny, another resident.  


Tell Me Lord

Tell me what’s this special project?
That accepts me, one of life’s biggest rejects.
Is this some government or state test
To see which rejects fail or do the best?
One minute I’m carrying bags, sleeping in dangerous streets
For years, months and cold, sick weeks.
Now, all of a sudden, I’m warm on a penthouse floor
With special neighbors on either side of my door
Brand new shower and tub right down the hall
And right out my window a view of the freeway skyscrapers
Tug boats, ferries, gleaming Puget Sound and all.
Tell me Lord, am I in heaven or what?
Either way, I’m glad you’ve finally stopped whooping my butt.
Now it’s time for me to enjoy my older years
No more misery, tears and worn out fears.
Enjoying meals from chefs that know how to cook
Prepare and serve, now that’s #1 in my book.
But please, tell me Lord, what’s really going on
Is this really that much of a concerned home?
Or is this your doing Lord, yours, all alone?
Tell Me Lord

- Kenny, Frederic Ozanam House Resident

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