Tent City.

He laid in bed
in the same place
everyone throws their garbage,
underneath the bridge of I-45.
All he wanted was change
but the world gave him
dimes, quarters, and tokens.

I looked at him as I crossed
the underpass, heading to
job number two,
and he looked at I.

I dropped him a five,
and so desperately wished
I was him
as he did with I.

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