back and forth, back and forth,
a metronome of tidiness,
back and forth, back and forth.
makes it easy to see
despite the rain.
Autopilot behind the wheel, behind more wheels.
I look out the window to a common sight.
Unlike black or white, the color of grey,
cold rain shimmers on his shopping cart,
his moving van on flimsy wheels.
All he can bequeath, inside.
weathered by human ambivalence.
The gray hairs that crown his glory,
do not soften;
we have somewhere to be.
Later, I spot a homeless man
with a sign I cannot read,
I role down the window
hand him two bucks
so I can feel good again,
it isn’t me.
An anxious hand
accepts my expiation,
my sin of disregard is lifted,
until I feel sandpaper skin
harsh against mine,
and wonder, why.