A man sits on a curb,
Bandages on his feet
Reading the news-paper.
Why?
What interest could he possibly have in this world?
His hairs’ long, grey,
With flecks of brown,
His dirty beard, un-kept and matted.
How old is that beard?
What stories would his beard tell if it could talk?
He sits calmly,
Unaware of my stare,
A placid grin on his face.
Do I ever smile like that?
His leathery skin
Clings to his bones,
His hollow cheeks make his lips protrude.
Was he ever handsome?
What words of profound wisdom could those lips tell me?
I slow down,
Bend down,
Catch his eye.
What do I say?:
I pretend to scratch my foot,
Where the plastic of my flip-flop
Irritates the skin.
Will he still be here later? Will I?
I just smile at him and walk away,
Did I see the world in his eyes?
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Submission Name: Questions For A Bum
