Will Streeter aint no
wall streeter
He’s more flannel shirts
And cross country marathons
Than pin stripes and
Bottom lines.
No, Will Streeter aint no
wall streeter
His accounts are measured in
The currency of giving
And listening
His one good eye
Fixed on breathing and heartbeat
The other on
A moon eternally full.
Tides rise and fall
But the ocean remains.
Not that he minds
The earthly pleasures of
A cold beer
Or a smooth spinning
Wheel
Or a tailwind
Once in a while.
But he’s more interested in
Quieting the distracting
Demons within
Being a brother’s keeper
Finding soul in sidewalk cracks
Driving nails.
No, Will Streeter
Aint no wall streeter
He slips fifty dollars into an
Envelope
To be found when
He is gone.
He’s builds his Beloved a shelter
When another man would glide
To a weekend off
Harvesting forgettable ephemera.
Will does what needs to be done when others
Do what they wanna do
No matter the cost.
It’s easy to overlook a Will Streeter
Who runs under the radar
Beholding, abiding, teachable
Collecting wisdom from
Those who traveled his path
Before him
A little scary to behold a man
So alive he embarrasses
My time squandered
Weighing the merits of which
Gewgaw or widget I should
Stack in my closet.
Not that he thinks the worse
Of that
Because Will Streeter
Takes charge of himself
Is beholden to his conscience
Spoken in father tongue
Gathering a gold that
No, Will Streeter
Aint no wall streeter
He is not in the business
Of acquiring
But that of letting go
Of turning to
A light that burns
The eyes.
*Will Streeter, 48, died today, April 20, 2012 of metastatic melanoma.
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