by Carla Visocchi

Created on: April 10, 2009

At the street corner he stands,

Tangled, oily, brown hair framing his

Unshaven, gaunt complexion;

Eyes sullen, sunken into his face.

His dull, ragged clothing;

Weathered and dirty,

Hangs off his body,

Adding to his shady appearance.

All of his possessions

In the single plastic bag

He carries by his side,

Tattered and torn.

He eyes the traffic warily;

Vulnerable and hunched over;

And holds out his thumb,

Awaiting someone who is willing

To drive him to the shelter

On the other side of town.

Yet, he appears to be invisible

To every passer-by;

The neglect he faces daily

Makes him want to cry.

So he sheds a tear and hobbles off

Somewhere out of sight,

For he will be lonesome and cold

For another unfortunate night.

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