He spits in his rag, washes my car window
A sign of the times
What sign is that, I ask myself?
That America is in trouble?
That our veterans have no place to live?
That a roof over one’s head is not a necessity
For a Marine?
Who fought for our security and more? Who now
Sleeps on the ground next to his wheel chair.
Since he has no other place to sleep
Except the grass beneath his sleeping bag.
Roll up a $20 bill and gently place it in his palm
His fingers close around it.
His eyes remain closed, his breathing slows.
I turn my eyes to the cerulean sky recalling
I have no job, nor means of support…
I have $20, a roof over my head, food in my fridge
And there but for the grace of God…
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