he waits with torso naked for the passersby to see &
touch if they dare
this man yoked, with a gnarled hump &
twisted frame
who comes day by day to offer himself
as the least of us
to remind the strong of the lost, the violent of the humble,
the proud of the weak &
though the air is brittle & the ground is wet,
he comes with cup in hand & alone
as are we all
who wait for our bus that will arrive soon &
with it the inescapable & most perfect fact
we are bound to a future we know not
& will only taste once.