Have you ever looked into the eyes of a homeless man? Caverns, deep and knowing. He sat, humbled beyond comprehension, child by his side -
I knew this man were homeless not due to attire, due to suitcases, 5-6,
surrounding him on all sides. His child quiet, played with a toy -
At this moment, observing, I wished I had something to write with so I
could relay the beauty of this man and his child to the world -
You see, he were dressed in a 3 piece suit. This man, now homeless, had more dignity than those of us who reside in luxury -
How utterly helpless I felt bearing witness to Father and Son, waiting
in line, their number to be called, eventually, like all the rest -
Life is a conundrum, placing us precisely at the exact unexpected moment in time, slow, like molasses, to teach us lessons -
A number called, finally. I held great hope hidden deep within my throat
for the child, homeless by circumstance, never once complained -
And I overheard, "We are unable to help you, sir. You need to have an
address to get aid." The man never rose his voice, the child, still -
"I just lost my home", the man replied. "I came here because I have nowhere else to go. My child is hungry." -
Yet the same monotonous response came from behind the bullet proof
glass. "Sir, you must have an address in order to receive aid." -
He rose then, man and child, no home nor food and grasped the hand of
his son. The child understood. Both of their eyes, showing signs of no sleep -
They walked out of the door dragging all they owned onto the frigid
winter streets of Buffalo. I never saw them again, this man and child -
I hoped he were "just visiting' or that the clerk had made a mistake,
but no. This is my America. Man and child, 3 piece suit, and the cold -
And even now, safe in my home, I envision them both, Father & Son,
begging for things that should be given and I am ashamed at myself -
Ashamed for not walking to him, for observing, ashamed for not whispering five miraculous words:
How can I help you?
