The Homeless Man - A Haibun Poem by Judy Meibach

The homeless man stands
in front of the crowded subway station.
How do I know that he is homeless?
He stands with that glazed look in his eyes,
like he has no where to go,
nobody to go home to,
nobody to watch out for him.
No purpose.
He seems to be staring at me,
wanting to say something, but not knowing
how to communicate.
What can I do for him?
I gaze back at him
wanting to say something.
Guilt permeates my soul
as the fear penetrates my existence.
I reach into my pocket for my Metro Card
and out comes
a fifty dollar bill.

Homeless man gazes
Purposeless existence
Guilt and fear diffuse

I need the fifty dollars -
So I think.
But this disheveled man needs it more.
He is dressed so sloppily -
When I look closer, I see
the stubble on his face -
probably hasn't shaved in awhile.
Can't afford it,
I assume.

Hand like a weathered oak limb
The wind streams through his fingers.
My coin, his meal - homeless man