When I first saw him, I thought it was headless
But as I passed, I realised he was hunched
His neck straining, as he pushed himself forward
Struggling against some inner wind
That kept the wrinkles on his face
And his shoulders towards the pavement
I was passing with a car full of collections
From what has been a very short life
And I wondered
Why are we meant to distrust strangers?
Why does it mean, that we do not take care of each other?
Such a small gift from each passing person
Forgotten as soon as it falls
Would be a blessing, lift the shoulders
Had I not a car full of possessions I valued more than he
(And what does this mean, as well?)
Would I have stopped?
Comments
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Heh. Try being someone bleeding from the head with a concussion walking down the highway and wondering these same things. Good poem.
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