His oversized coat was frozen to the crusty earth.
He was laying on City Hall turf.
Compassion seemed to pass him swiftly by,
you could read disgust in each judgmental,
well cultured eye.
In the strip of grass West of beautiful New City Hall,
laid a soul that was overlooked by those who
claim to respond when their civic duties call.
Dreams and ambitions, legislation in the making,
can't help a corpse still alive and aching.
Still hungry, still waiting.
A hood was his shelter,
worn out boots were his feet's only comfort.
I cried inside as I bent down to look into his eyes.
Touching his coat, I asked if he was alright,
I could smell he had spent a long hard night.
Wrinkles in time,
that's a book title that came to my mind.
Wrinkles that convey a story in each crack,
time marched on this blank face, holding nothing back.
His eyes, the windows that viewed a troubled life time,
were like black holes on his emotionally void face.
No sign of sanity, not a trace.
A mind taking a journey of it's own,
to another time, another place.
Black holes so dense, hopelessness was all I sensed.
Black holes that sucked all of life's sorrows in,
Seems death was working overtime here,
desperate to win.
Too full of pain to start anew,
A man... someone's son...
victim to carelessness and booze.
I placed my lunch bag beside him and his frozen bed.
Not much; an egg, a drink, fruit and a few slices of bread.
I shared a kind word or two.
What's a poor woman to do.
I know he didn't stick around,
later when I came back,
eggshells covered the frozen indented, ground.
HOME
BACK TO POETRY INDEX
