He sits on the sidewalk with his hand out. <br />He smiles. <br />His hands are wrinkled and dirty. <br />So are his clothes. <br />He’s searching for a friendly face. <br />He’s hoping that someone will notice him. <br />People walk past without a second glance. <br />Most people walk past without a first glance. <br />Mothers pull their children away from him as they walk by. <br />I wonder where his mother is? <br />“Please…” he says, <br />but she looks the other way. <br />He stands. <br />Traffic is stopped at a red light. <br />He shuffles over to a nearby car and taps on the window. <br />People begin to honk. <br />Cars speed away from him. <br />Watch out! <br />I rush to help. <br />“Don’t encourage him, ” a passerby says. <br />I place my hand on the drifter’s sleeve. <br />“Let me help you, ” I say. <br />He looks up at me, this old man. <br />He has tears in his eyes. <br />“God bless you, child, ” he says. <br />This is someone’s son. <br />This could be someone’s husband. <br />This could be someone’s dad. <br />What if this were my dad? <br />I buy him lunch and a hot cup of coffee. <br />He thanks me and goes on his way. <br />I head back to the hotel. <br />I wonder where he’ll sleep tonight? <br />The next morning I get up early to catch my plane. <br />He sits on the sidewalk with his hand out. <br />He smiles. <br />His hands are wrinkled and dirty. <br />So are his clothes. <br />He’s searching for a friendly face. <br />He’s hoping that someone will notice him. <br /> <br />(12/4/05)<br /><br />Shannon Chapel<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-drifter/
