a cupped smoke, can or bottle
just out of sight
wearing that mask of loss, need, ill health . . .
a blunt sharpie carved into creased cardboard
something about god, service, kids, hunger . . . mercy
or the lack thereof
an excuse, a line, variations bordering cliche
everything but the truth, or real story
that would demand too large a sign
Cars back up at the light
as this corner person
with apparently no home to go to
plays the current
like a violin
loud enough
for the fat car in back
and the one running up behind it
to hear its cash-strapped refrain
Change, dollars, apathy, contempt, disgust
trash, cigarettes, stale sandwiches, advice
shrugs, excuses, old peanuts . . .
pass through these idling windows
They continue on
as this denizen finishes their shift
ambles on toward the 7-11 with
their acquired booty
The light changes
as a new itinerant closes in
Traffic flows by like a river
You can’t step in the same road twice
—Larry Crist