i drop in a dollar

that old man
on the stoop, sign in hand.
wanting bread,
wanting spare change.
stroking his
Whitman beard,
in his Dickenson clothes.
but
from the look of those
red eyes,
that nose,
he loves
his rum, his wine, his
whiskey.
he wants to sleep this life
off
and start a new one.
bread is far down the line.
but the sign
says bread.
I drop in a dollar.