Glass windows protect my comfort
As I look out at his scraggly beard,
The sun drawing shadows on his face
Through graying hair with no purpose.
His jacket would have hid from the sun
For having seen it too long, parched,
Dying over his shirt of plaid polyester,
Whose main color is anything from red to black
As crust and stain mark its age.
His pants, cargo gray or grayish had
Fought many battles and could prove it.
Cup in hand, looking up from his cart
For which he probably had a mortgage
Filled with cardboard furniture and belongings,
Despair conversed with his hair’s shadow.
He then goes from to car to car and I ask:

“How much did we just send to Ukraine?”

His shoes had paid many taxes and rushed
To save, contribute to build this nation,
But all have forgotten him now

(c) nyonglema