"Bubbling up in our own good time-- online."
Groundwaters Publishing, LLC
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Volume 7 Issue 1
Page 8
Page 8
He looked hot and dirty, standing there with his cardboard sign
Hand-lettered in black marker: “Homeless, Hungry, Please Help.”
The light changed, so I had to stop, the second car in line,
Far enough away so I could look at him without his notice.
His eyes were red and rheumy, staring without focus;
His boots were scuffed and gray with dust, his shirt and pants
An indeterminate shade of khaki or maybe denim blue.
Beside him lay a dog, company and warmth; vigilance
After dark. No hand from the car ahead held out change
Or food. The light turned green; I drove beyond his range,
Turning my head to avoid his eyes. He’d just buy beer
Or cigarettes instead of dog food. Besides, I’m not his keeper.
Hand-lettered in black marker: “Homeless, Hungry, Please Help.”
The light changed, so I had to stop, the second car in line,
Far enough away so I could look at him without his notice.
His eyes were red and rheumy, staring without focus;
His boots were scuffed and gray with dust, his shirt and pants
An indeterminate shade of khaki or maybe denim blue.
Beside him lay a dog, company and warmth; vigilance
After dark. No hand from the car ahead held out change
Or food. The light turned green; I drove beyond his range,
Turning my head to avoid his eyes. He’d just buy beer
Or cigarettes instead of dog food. Besides, I’m not his keeper.
| Spare Change By Jane Capron |