on the corner, squatting,
legs
folded
over,
his knapsack beside
him,
no sign anymore,
no small bucket
for change.
no pleading
for money.
no rising to walk
down
the line of cars
when the light changes.
he just sits there.
he seems to have given
up on it all.
no one slows
down
anymore to hand him
a dollar.
in the rain, he's forever
there,
in the wind
and now on sunny days
he's there.
i imagine
he has a mother
somewhere.
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