if posture had a mouth;
his bony slouch would speak for his situation.
he is emaciated, longing for a beer,
scrounging change from the street corner
at andrews and oakland
and i stare out the car window wondering where
his luck ran out or why
as if this sad, solitary man on the median has my answers,
or the lonely passer-by on this 5 am florida street
who carries the weight of his world and mine on his
hunched scrawny shoulders before the sun even rises
with his stack of newspapers for sale
and his life, a bundle of cloth and sorrow in a stolen shopping cart,
asking for dimes,
knows why...
while i thank God i never will
simutaneously.