Quarter Roy

A coat clenched around himself
no boots, one glove, no thumb.
A hat, too small, upon his head
to keep from going numb.

A picture of a life forgotten
kept within his head
A wife and children missing,
gone, but not thought dead.

Owning nothing but a smile
and the cup within his hand,
abandoned by God and country,
for serving in Vietnam

Alone upon the concrete walk
asleep, he hears the guns.
And sees the cold dead eye's
of brothers, fathers, sons.

When morning finally awakens
his dreams from dark despair,
He's back into the world of now,
his life not worth bus fare

He rarely asks for anything
although his needs are many,
sometimes he'll beg for something warm,
a quarter, dime, or penny.

I stopped a lot and talked to him,
took him food and cloths.
I felt a sense of sadness
for this man that no one knows.

I would sit on cardboard boxes
listening to his dreams,
wishing I could grant them,
and take away his screams.

He doesn't sit anymore
in his old spot against the wall
His life was taken from him
as he slept in a bathroom stall.

Beaten, torn and tortured
by kids with idle hands,
he was taken from this world
to better, fairer lands

That's how I came to know this man
befriend him, and enjoy.
and that's why I'll miss my friend,
my good friend Quarter Roy