empty corner

i gave him the only

dollar in my wallet

i can’t imagine the

corner being very

generous anymore

with most people

now going cashless

but he was new,

half-a-beard younger than

Sal with the brown pants

(that’s what Sal’s sign said,

 “hi i’m Sal

  with the brown pants

  can you please help”)

i saw him again today

but my wallet was empty,

the State salary has me

living tight and lean,

there’s not a lot of room

for extras

  but, i am rich

  in poems and silence

i wonder if he

writes at night,

scribbling sufferings

far worse than 

i’ve ever known

on scraps of cardboard

or those collected

dollars he

eventually must spend

i always thought

Sal’s sign was

concisely poetic,

11 words...

  a greeting

  a proper noun

  a description

  a cry for help

all invoking

a visceral response

i can’t imagine

being on this corner...

or any corner...

... oh man...

poetry is worthless...

i wish i had a dollar...