Voice of the Homeless Man

Dressed in tattered, long

dark layers,

Face and hands,

Stained with

The dirt and distain

Of the earth.

Glowing, blinking

The pedestrian light

Sends him into the crosswalk.

I watch him carefully.

My gaze

Following each step and movement.

A Safeway shopping cart

Filled with buckets

And bags

Weathered from exposure

Becomes a prop for his elbows.

Without a forethought,

He scoots and shuffles the

Filled cart across the intersection.

As if to ignore,

The path set

Underneath the rubber soles

Of his mangled shoes,

He glares at what rests

Between his hands.

A note pad

Welcomes him

Holding his attention.

Black ink stains the page

A pen is griped between

His thumb and fingers

Each word written becomes

More powerful and thought-provoking

With each step.

The props before him

Serve as a catalyst

For hope, for faith

Changing the complicated

Into strict simplicity.

He writes

To create a voice.

A voice that was heard

From behind the wheel of a car.

Listening to each word

As if he was speaking

Directly into my soul.

He writes

To create purpose

For nobody

But himself.