Untitled
And when I saw him
sitting meekly, trying
to be unassuming, invisible,
I stopped and faced him
but couldn’t meet his eyes.
His simple presence was conspicuous:
a stain on the sun-washed sidewalk.
His hair hung limp from his down-turned head,
framing his downcast eyes, and his knees
were somehow dirtier than the denim
above and below them.
A cigarette split his lips
and his hand cradled a number of
half-smoked castaways.
Every few drags he rescued another,
raised it to his mouth
and lit it with the other
before dragging that old one across the concrete,
once, twice,
until the embers faded and died,
put out.
He worked to hide his eyes
as if they concealed a mystery,
an old secret that, if exposed,
might burn more brightly than the sun
and move me
on my way, shuffling my feet
and wiping my eyes.
sitting meekly, trying
to be unassuming, invisible,
I stopped and faced him
but couldn’t meet his eyes.
His simple presence was conspicuous:
a stain on the sun-washed sidewalk.
His hair hung limp from his down-turned head,
framing his downcast eyes, and his knees
were somehow dirtier than the denim
above and below them.
A cigarette split his lips
and his hand cradled a number of
half-smoked castaways.
Every few drags he rescued another,
raised it to his mouth
and lit it with the other
before dragging that old one across the concrete,
once, twice,
until the embers faded and died,
put out.
He worked to hide his eyes
as if they concealed a mystery,
an old secret that, if exposed,
might burn more brightly than the sun
and move me
on my way, shuffling my feet
and wiping my eyes.