Homeless.

I sit down and try to read him
but I can't look to long
it's a preview
a demo of what I won't know unless I reach out
and muster up half an ounce of courage to ask
I think up a million ways he got here
a billion identities
fallen families
I wonder if he has a wife
to fall asleep with tonight
No - Probably most likely not.

From my half a second
don't you dare stare demo
he is middle aged
not old enough to be old
not young enough to be new
his face is masked with a beard
with a story hidden in each strand of hair
his eyes are constantly crying
but he wont shed a tear
his clothes are older than me it seems
they're draped across his body like a table cloth a little to big
he hasn't had a thing to eat
in more than just a couple weeks

I sit down and try to read the people
who don't give half a damn
am I the only one who reads the sign in his hand?
"I'll take anything useless from you.
but if not, just a smile would do"
I wish I could collect smiles in a can
I'd bottle them up
and hand them to this man
I place five in his hand
because that all I can.
With the bill I show a smile
the biggest one I can mold
I reach out and shake
the most unreadable hand I'll ever hold
Yet the crying eyes break into a smile
I stare a second too long
I want to read the middle aged
too young to be new
too old to be old man.

I walk away with questions
about the man I couldn't read
I wonder if tomorrow
he'll wake up on a different street
I hope he takes that 500 cents
and buys himself something small to eat.
I realize I have a million hoodies
all too big for me
I play with the fabric
and walk back to that street
but the man is gone.
And I am left with my half a minute don't you dare stare demo
and a million scenarios of what could have happened
to the not too old yet too young to be homeless man.