Her nails were red
I remember that.
His were a grimy soot
His were chewed down to the nub.

She was the lady with the fur coat
the black dress with a slit
this high.
He had jeans the color of dull agate.

Lady tip tapped down the sidewalk she owned.
The world was a pastry case,
and she owned the keys.
He could only stare through the glass.

The man meant no harm
He was a little too tall
A little too close
And a little too…
Poor.

Madame sneered,
stepped all over his broken pride,
crushed all self respect with one
word.
Bum.
Pennies flew from her hand,
copper bullets.

He stared.
The pity, the disdain.
Stared right back.
And the man,
the man whose pockets were long starved,
The man whos called a park bench home,
walked away.