There he stood, without the walls of the restaurant,
Holding a slip of newsprint in one hand.
It had snowed earlier that day,
And though the Sun was shining it was still cold,
Like the unfeeling hearts of many.
He was of average height, of average build, of average age.
His grizzled face and unkempt hair
Showed signs of experience, then neglect.
He had a black smudge on his forehead.
Perhaps he wasn’t always like this.
He might have been an educator, a CEO, a leader of men.
He might have been a craftsman, a tradesman,
One with a unique set of skills that had been deemed
Unnecessary.
Or perhaps he had always been a bum.
(One can never tell)
But now,
Now he was one of many.
The newsprint in his hand read “Two-for-One!”
Tears streamed down his craggy face,
For he was One of Many who could not even afford the One.
He turned around and disappeared into the afternoon crowd of
Those who were fortunate enough to find shelter during
Those morning snows.
