like clockwork,
is at the corner. a rotund
red faced
fellow with a friendly face
and a walrus mustache.
he looks comical,
a Falstaff sort of man,
full of mirth and ale.
ribald stories to tell.
he's brought his folding
chair today, and has a new
sign.
god bless, veteran,
homeless,
pregnant, which is crossed
out with a wide black line.
i reach into my pocket
to give him another
crinkly dollar, but i have
nothing with me.
i have coffee. i have a donut.
i have a book on love
poems.
it'll have to be next
drive, old friend.
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