Homeless in Berkeley
He, in his bed of yesterday's newspapers, is sleeping well.
Around him an instinctive panic errupts within the mobile public;
They retreat to the opposite end of the sidewalk,
stepping around coffee stands,
maneuvering aside light posts,
tightening grips on children's shoulders,
to be as far away from him as possible.
Oh so nonchalontly. Hardly anyone will notice.
To him, their rushing footsteps are nothing but a lullaby,
a rhythm by which his dreams abide.
put-put sounds the shoes on the pavement, put-put march the soldiers through the grasslands in Vietnam.
A man once at war fighting for something is now a man who has nothing and is avoided. It is sad when one thinks about it.
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