Today’s morning hello without skip.
A homeless man who
sang a song for me yesterday,
recited a gem of a poem to me last week,
preached the wisdom of life to me last month.
He will do them again tomorrow, next week, next month.
Why does he nest in my porch?
Why do I call him a homeless man?
Why do I willingly despise me who feel pity for him?
Tomorrow morning, would I try to greet him first,
who spent the night in my door step?
to prove that he is a hologram
to despise him without guilt, with comfort.
This bed I am sleeping on is a paper box?
This blanket I am covering myself with is a newspaper?
This house I am living in is a subway station?
This poem I am writing now is a deep sigh?
I hope not.