A derelict of cheap booze
                      and much unkind time
                      haunts the sidewalk
                      at the local liquor store.
                      He sits by his walker in the sun;
                      huddles under the canopy when it rains,
                      hoping someone will drop some coins
                      in his crumpled old hat – 
                      perhaps enough for a beer or two.
                      Inevitably, I’ll walk past him,
                      say hi; hand him a dollar or two.
                      I like to see his wrinkled face light up
                      at the sound of a friendly voice.
                      Funny, isn’t it, how we assume
                      the ones we see as down and out
                      are there but to take the handout?
                      But the simple exchange of love
                      at that not so loving place, 
                      fills my heart every time we meet.

                      Go figure!

                      I do not know his name.

                      (c)Sharran