CALL ME BELOVED

I’m bitter and thinking that the girl with tired eyes and two coats
sitting with the cardboard sign didn’t have heart surgery
and isn’t trying to get $17 to go home, but still
I wish I had the twenty dollar bill to hand over,
or maybe I could buy us both tickets, tell her
“take me wherever you’re going,” even if
it’s just inside of the train station to eat
a shitty pretzel, pretend that I’m not
headed where I’m headed for just
five more god damn minutes,
because the train is always
crowded, one car too short
and I’ve slipped on the
sidewalk twice today –
there are holes in
my socks, and it’s
too cold for the
homeless man
at 30th and
Market to
sit on old
blankets,
shaking
his Dunkin Donuts cup
with the hole on the bottom.

2015 Poem-A-Week 09: February 26 – March 4