The Man

It’s early in the morning
Amidst the puffy eyes and empty seats,
Him and his many full plastic bags
Are in the adjacent seat.

The sound of ripping plastic.
From a tiny plastic pouch, he produces a cloth
He wipes his razor clean
And tucks away the cloth into his hat, revealing his bald head

Why there, I wondered? But what do I know.

The shape of his face was kind
Had he opened his mouth,
Would it be surprising if the image of kindness was shattered?
I wish he’d opened his mouth. I wanted him to be the anomaly

He cleaned an aged cut on his nose 
(How’d he get it? Well, what do I know)
As delicately as a father would clean his infants’ wounds
What would his parents say if
They saw their little boy this way?

Celebrities and the unstabley housed 
Share the same degree of “untouchable energy”
When they walk, people move to create them a path forward

For one, it’s respect.
The other, it’s a metaphorical wish for distance.

Greyed boots, well-worn pants and a hardened expression
Can be worn by anyone
But when he dons them,
Oh how people stare.

How did this happen? Well, what do I know.

We have a wonderment around vulnerability
When others display their needs so publicly
Shelter and sustenance are our most foundational needs
Homelessness is just cruelty.