Requiem for the Homeless Man
He died of an overdose
of neglect; who cares
that he was one of the hidden
people exiled from smiles.
His sores were so heavy he had to lean them
against a wall, a bench, or a gate,
or let them fall
into the gutter where he belonged
who cares?
What’s left in his pockets is scarce
a few dollops of lint,
two or three mustard seeds,
a browning lily folded in two
like his life.
His obituary made the evening winds
flying his soul to the bosom of God
who cares.
Philip C. Kolin
