A brown paper bag,
Inside he carries a brown penny,
And a brown labeled Drink.
You don’t know what to think.
A brown card board box,
Brown sad eyes,
And slurs when he talks.
Tears streak when he sits on the corner,
In his brown tattered jeans,
And his crinkled shirt.
His brown hair disheveled,
And his hands are dressed in the brownest dirt.
His nails have been bitten,
By sorrowful teeth.
His brown journal has been written,
Although the words are difficult to read.
You peer at him with slight shame,
For yourself
Since you dare not ask his name.
You watch him from the distance,
And you think about his tears,
But do not wish to step across the boundary
And ask him about his fears.
You have not only brown pennies in your corduroy pocket,
But the green leafy paper and some silvers too.
Still they reside in your pocket,
Because you think,
“There is nothing I can do.”
You shrug your somber shoulders,
And cross the cement ground,
And realize you are poorer,
Poorer than the corner man,
Because suddenly your world is black,
And his is still only brown.
At least his head he still holds up with sad eyes,
As yours peers with shame at the soiled ground.
He may have only a penny in his brown bag,
Partnered with his sorrow drowning drink,
But your pockets are so very full,
And your thoughts you still must think.
You may have more money,
More darlings to hold,
More days you are able to dress for the cold,
But you are poorer than the corner man,
Because at least himself he does understand…
And you ponder what you are for,
Because you do not reach out your hand.
Yes,
You are poorer than the corner man.
© Loretta Hanscome
Comments
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you're right, this was well worth reading. the color imagery between brown/black works really well. i like "And his hands are dressed in the brownest dirt." it gives the man a subtle dignity, if that's what you were going for maybe "the finest brown dirt" would work well too.
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