shoeless
and hungry. a thread bare
coat
on his back,
I hand
him a loaf of bread,
still warm
from the store's oven.
he's out there on the steps
all day,
all year.
stroking his long
beard.
what's this, he says,
looking up
with blue eyes
rimmed red. I don't
want bread. is
there nothing that
I can give
you to change things?
go away, he says.
you're making things
worse.
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