See

A young man
enters the train.
He looks
like he's been through
a war. His body
is the battlefield.
Something has taken him
apart, gut and bone.
The sadness in his eyes
goes on for years.

He looks to me for money,
I shake my head
and say sorry.
I've seen my father give
the drunkest men five dollars.
My mother, this morning,
opened her wallet for two beggars,
two dollars, I could see
her mind searching
as she looked into
the worn folds
of her wallet.

The man continues
down the car.
The kids don't look up.
When he reaches the end,
another homeless man
in the middle yells, Hey!
He's been talking to himself
the whole time, and rocking,
but the young man
with the profound sadness
comes back.

Seated, the man scoots over
a ripped duffel and places
his old, green garbage bag
of a comforter, or clothes,
on top. He reaches
into his pocket, his large jeans
coated front and back
with a brown sheen, with the spots
from sleeping in a corner,
from never pissing without
his sneakers on.

He pulls out a small bunch
of change, his gnarled hands
sorting, and gives
the sad man
some coins. They nod
at each other, and depart.