He saw it by the dusty curb

dull and discarded

Slipping it into his pocket

he headed home



Turning the key in the door with the faded numbers

He announced his arrival

in this place beneath the neon light

that flashed “Weekly”



His sister sat criss-crossed

on a carpet that hosted too many shoes

as her own tennis shoes, holes in the soles

lay discarded in the corner by a stack of school books



Hunger abated, at least this night,

she recounted stories of others

who joined her in that small room

shuffling in line for their daily meal



A blaring old television

taunted them with visions of hope

as those who never knew cold

pledged allegiance to the cause



He pulled that red nose from his pocket

and affixed it to his face

His sister’s infectious laughter

combatting their struggle for a sweet moment



As the millions raised their voices

promising solutions to problems

that defined his life

He whispered, “We are here.”




photo: https://www.flickr.com/photos/ell-r-brown/5519656546