He stands next to the car
At the robots.
By now I know to avert my eyes
So that he does not implore.
So that I don't have to
look into a forlorn face.
A face filled with hunger and regret.
A face so surprisingly hard to forget.
His eyes betray his life
His wrinkles are his stamp from time
His lips mouth the word "Please".
Over and over again.
We count the seconds
until green means go
So that he is, out of sight
So that he can be, out of mind.
That beseeching beggar
His hopeless homelessness.
Even if I don't see him.
I still see him.
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