At Least One Step

It was a night to stay inside,
not cold, but rainy, clouds hung low;
a simple man would speak for faith,
my friends told me I ought to go.

So from a shelf I took the hat
I seldom wear and braved the weather,
to hear a man supposed to add
more than two-plus-two together.

From judgments moral and pulpit-stained
I try to keep deaf as a post,
but this man coaxed my ears to learn
hunger far more than bread or roast.

. . . I’m older now, but something woke
my appetite for what he meant.
Though I’ve forgotten what he said
it changed the way by which I went.