Harold

I saw a quarter on the street
It glistened in the rain.
I left it there for chance that
Someone needy came.

A hundred yards back
Walked a man and a brown cane.
He hobbled along the slippery road
In the bicycle lane.

Harold, they called him.
An ordinary name.
For an ordinary guy
On an ordinary day.

Harold thought it safe,
With no cars in sight
When he looked to the left,
He saw a bright light.

It took him a bit
To get to the ground
And pick up the quarter
I left to be found.

He needed this quarter.
His home was foreclosed.
He lived on the street
With one change of clothes.

He hadn’t had food.
For days, that’s what they said.
Said he slept under a bridge
With a gray rock for his head.

My heart jumped
I wanted to cry.
Who am I kidding?
I wanted to die.

While he attempted to stand,
A car came too fast.
All I could hear were
Tires and glass.

I stood frozen.
For hours, No, days.
I turned on the news
In a foggy haze.

It told me about Harold
And his homelessness.
But it never mentioned a quarter,
Or who passed by it.

I saw a quarter on the street.
It glistened in the rain.
I left it there for chance that
Someone needy came.





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