The Homeless One

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

For Michael, somewhere out there.

The Homeless One

 

He sits on a park bench with everything he owns.

There is no life in his eyes, no spark to his soul.

Another homeless man walks up and asks for a smoke.

He has none.  He has nothing but a shopping cart,

 the total sum of his life.

 

It’s getting colder now.  Winter is approaching and his coat is ragged.

His tennis shoes are worn with holes in them and he figures he will get more.

Somewhere.

From whom he can’t say because there is nobody to help. 

 

Work is impossible without an address or a shower.

It doesn’t matter anymore.  Nothing really matters anymore.

As he contemplates his existence, or his next meal, someone stops.

 

He is offered some change and gladly accepts the small amount,

The most he’s had in a while.  It will not buy much but it will buy something.

A small bottle maybe?  A pack of cigarettes?  A sandwich?  What a decision! 

 

He’s been offered help in the past but it never works.  He’s a broken soul and nothing works.

And they will find him someday, I know they will.

And I will mourn his passing,

My son Michael.

 


Submitted: October 20, 2020

© Copyright 2020 C.L. Pratt. All rights reserved.

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