The neighborhood weighs in,
the online chat buzzing
like old-fashioned phone wires:

Good morning! Does anyone know what
happened to Imogene, the homeless woman
who lived in the park?

The responses zing with speculation,
and what they lack in precise spelling
reveals a level of concern that I share:

My boyfriend just told me the other day
she was down by the school but I’m not
to sure about that as I drive often

around there and haven’t seen her.
Hopefully she got serveses
and off the street.

How many of us have stories about
this neighbor who lives rough,
as they say in England?

This woman whose name and face
are known to so many—how many of us
have offered her a meal? A bed? An ear?

She was in the park on a bench close
to the street during the day and at night
on the bench on the sidewalk.

Thanks for checking in on her.
She’s been there a long time. She’s
quite nice and loves my dog.

Somebody probably complained
and made her move, so sad.

We live across the street from
the park. And she has been there
for at least 13 yrs.

I am close by and have been wondering
the same, any update? Was she moved
by someone or by an agency?

We all have more questions,
no answers. Concern, but not enough.
And how awful we will feel

if we learn that Imogene has died—
perhaps in that park, beneath
a bush where she often slept.

Even the neighborly dog she loved
may fret as the thread lengthens,
as comment after comment says,

How sad. What a shame.
I, too, drive by the park with bottles
of water and a sandwich, just in case.

On foot, I look around, on benches,
under bushes. But no Imogene
to be found, which leaves me,

like other well-intentioned
neighbors, feeling helpless,
a bit guilty, imagining

what we could have done,
how, with just a little more effort,
we might have made a difference

for one of us.