#30 The Con ~ Traffic Dance

This column came out in the form of a meditation, so that's how I'm
sending it on to you. I'm also including a little love poem.

I've just finished reading an exciting and hopeful book about local
agriculture (Eat Here by Brian Halweil). It reminded me that, while it
helps to pay enough attention to the problems that surround us that we
understand their structure and dynamics, there is more than enough food for
despair in this world. What really needs watering and loving are the little
signs of hope that are always springing up everywhere if we just take the
time to notice. If you are looking for a regular dose of down-to-earth hope
for this world, check out Yes! A Journal of Positive Futures
(www.yesmagazine.org).



THE CON

I know about cons,
have dealt with my share on the doorstep,
been taken in once or twice
learned some of the signs.

I remember one woman
with an artful smile
and a polished tale that needed just five transit tokens
for a happy ending.
I said I didn’t believe a word of her story
but offered a token
in case the con covered real need.

But what about this man, this time?
He’s been on my doorstep before,
asked for work or tokens to ride the bus.
If this is a con, it is worn by a man
who is also my neighbor.

What is the cost of trusting him?
My good money could just go to drink—
there is a whiff of that smell about him—
and he would surely come back and ring my bell again.

But there is a cost in not trusting him too—
a separation between myself and the street.

I know how detail can coat a con,
make it easier to swallow.
Well, here’s detail enough to drown in.

The story he tells is full of truth
of people who have fallen
and are struggling to get back up
or have always been without
in a system that makes life hard for the poor—
landing job interviews without a phone
getting to the suburbs to work
without cash up front for the bus
jumping through the endless hoops
set up by those who would help.

This story is real—-but is it his?
I wish I could be sure.
I stand at the door and listen and listen
not wanting to be conned
hating my doubts.

In the end I give him tokens and money.
Even if it was all for drink,
he has opened a window of truth,
spoken with authority,
told a story I need to hear.
And the price of not trusting is just too high.

The view is not pretty through this window.
I wonder how I would fare out there—
how to come to terms with a broken life,
be thankful for systems that give something
but not enough,
hang on to dignity,
wake up each day still clinging to hope.
I don’t like to think about it, would rather not look...
We are encouraged not to look all the time.

If this was a con at my door
it was a very little one
to draw me in, invite me to connection,
play on my generosity.

There are much bigger cons out there,
cons with power and wealth and enormous seduction,
cons that plays not on our goodness,
but on separation, fear and greed—
the look-out-for-number-one individualism con,
the pay-to-be-happy marketing con,
the pay-to-live-risk-free insurance con,
the pay-to-be-safe-from-enemies security con.

If I would choose to not be conned
then I need to choose it all the time.
I need to look to the lies beyond my doorstep—
the lies that saturate my consciousness,
make me believe I have a right
to freedom from this kind of discomfort.

Besides, I think the man at my door
was telling the truth.


Pamela Haines
Philadelphia, 2/05




Traffic dance


I love four-way stops--
Together we weave a pattern of cooperation,
a dance among strangers.

Sometimes it is seamless perfection,
steady progress through that age-old system
of taking turns.

Sometimes it is not so clear.
Then we make eye contact
one gesturing for the other to go first,
chivalry (of both sexes)
playing out in the streets.

The rare driver who has forgotten his manners
somehow gets excused.
He is the loser,
outside of the dance.

Pamela Haines
2/05