A man who once owned a shirt
and could remember his parents’ names
wanders down by the Duck Pond
with a sign borrowed from a woman
who took his hat in exchange
for her last cigarette.
Hands at his side, hiding
his ribs, he holds a sign.
A path clears for him as
he walks over to
the edge of the pond.
He steps in to ease his feet.
The deep blue sky offers no clouds
for the sun to hide behind.
His leather face, made darker
by his white beard, keeps the sweat
from seeping into his pores.
He looks down at the sign, listening
to the kids laugh and splash. And
even though the woman told him
the sign asks for money, he tilts
his head back to the sky and thinks,
“Right now,
all I want
is my hat back.”
