Old Man

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

pondering and regret after noticing a homeless man who keeps appearing in my life.

Submitted: May 26, 2018

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Submitted: May 26, 2018



I’ve noticed an old, bearded man recently. I’ve seen him too many times around CU Boulder’s campus poking all over garbage cans, stumbling from time to time. He seems friendly; I want to talk to him.

He’s just appeared outside my apartment; he’s crossing the street, maneuvering erratically across the white, rectangular blocks. I can go to him and speak to him; see if I can provide help of some variety.


A conversation with an old man who happens to be homeless. Is that what’s stopping me? People don’t typically go out of their way to make meaningful connections with strangers who have a roof over their heads, so why force themselves to benefit the soul of an old homeless man struggling deeply?


I’d presume it’s that they’re unpredictable, prone to socially unacceptable behaviors.

A wandering soul is chastised.

A searching soul is ridiculed.

A soul who’s ‘ruined their own life,’ even though he was not the only to blame, is a failure.

A soul who’s ‘ruined their own life’ and decides to ‘wallow in their misery,’is a failure.


‘Failure’ will not be tolerated!


I know that all people are not good, the homeless are no exception.


I want to speak to as many different people as possible in my life, it’s something I crave.

Sometimes I’m too shy or feel so low I can’t even speak to my best friends, or the ones I call my family.


I threw away the garbage and walked back inside.


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