man on the porch

i see the man on porch,
across the street from the house
i'm working in.
upper north east, dc.
he rocks.
he's old.
he's seen this street go
from slum
to gold.
row houses.
crack houses. whores
and johns,
a night parade
of bums,
and lost souls.
it's gone pale now.
gay now.
money now.
it's a rainbow neighborhood.
everyone is young
and upscale. kids and strollers.
dogs on leashes.
lawyers, capital hill
staffers.
but my man,
he's still here though.
dark
and quiet in his chair,
in the shade.
a tilted hat
on his head,
saying nothing, no smile,
no words,
just a simple
soft wave.