A derelict of cheap booze
and much unkind time
haunts the sidewalk
at the local liquor store.
He sits by his walker in the sun;
huddles under the canopy when it rains,
hoping someone will drop some coins
in his crumpled old hat Ė
perhaps enough for a beer or two.
Inevitably, Iíll walk past him,
say hi; hand him a dollar or two.
I like to see his wrinkled face light up
at the sound of a friendly voice.
Funny, isnít it, how we assume
the ones we see as down and out
are there but to take the handout?
But the simple exchange of love
at that not so loving place,
fills my heart every time we meet.
I do not know his name.
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