Homeless Man

​The poor man had a decent beard
Luckily beards were trendy
And a sign of good health too
But his — carried a stench of dirt and soot.

The wooden limb from a tree
Whittled to fit in his hand
To carry his weight as he shuffled the hardtop
His best and treasured possession.

The alcohol in his brown bag
Easily replaced one after another
Took him to the ground with his pants at his ankles
Often to the inside of a monochrome prison cell.

He lamented nothing
Drank to remember nothing
So his skin was tough and nothing pierced
So his music was vibrant, never the blues.

The age in his face
Brought him to wink to everyone
And say Hullllloooo!
His friends were strangers to all that mattered.