He stands on the side of a road.
Leaning heavily on his walker.
A cardboard sign clutched in his hands.
Rain falls and soaks this old man to the bone.
The ink runs off his sign and falls quietly into the puddle at his feet.
Approaching him I ask
what’s gone wrong for a man of his age to be alone in the rain
with a cardboard sign the only offering of hope?
His voice is ragged and quiet.
A house fire he answers.
I ask him his name
As he replies Charlie, a hand is extended.
It’s hard to look at the homeless
With an empty bedroom in your apartment.