A man sits, slumped against a pole.
His clothes hang on his body.
His faced aged by the long years and beaten by a hard life.

He holds up a coffee cup and grunts for attention.
Busy people rush keeping in time with the tempo of New York City.
They just pass him.

No one stops.
No one looks.
This is a part of life.

Poor
Homeless
Beaten
Young
Old Bodies
On the streets.

Thats all they are.
Bodies
Not people
Bodies that have been outcast by society

Down the street a church lets out.
As people come out, a blonde woman catches my eye.
I watch as she says her goodbyes.
As she came closer I could see her eyes, full of care and love.
Her Bible in one arm and her purse in loosely hanging on the other.
As she gets closer, her gait gets faster. She clenches her purse to her body
And presses her Bible to her chest.
To protect her.
From the homeless man who watches her.
Soon the christian girl is gone.

What could she have given him?
Maybe she didn’t have change.
All she had was her purse and her Bible.

As the day continues
The man never moves from his spot.
A sheet of paper floats down in front of him.
Another man in suit and tie kneels to pick it up.
But as he lifts his head
He finds himself face to face to his opposite.
The rich and the poor.
Face to face
No barriers of the world keeping them apart
Eye to eye.
On the same level.
The homeless man pushes himself back
As if he was not supposed to be so close.
The other man stands up and reaches in his pocket.
He throws a dime into the cup and walks away.

The homeless man still sits.
Still Hungry
Still Tired
Still Alone

I go and kneel down next to the man.
I dropped some quarters in.
He looks at me and nods.
“Hi.” I said.
“Hello” he responded in a low raspy voice.
“How are you?” I asked
“I’m living” He grunted
“Oh.”
“Yes thats all I can be.”
“If you don’t mind, I have a question.”
“I have and answer you go first.”
“Do you hate them?”
“Who?”
“Those people.”
“Nope.”
“No?’
“Why should I?”
“Because you sit here obviously in need and they just pass by.”
He laughed and said “Where you from?”
“Arizona.” I answered
“Do they have homeless people there?”
“There is hardly any people.”
We both laugh.
“Well there are many people here.” He said.
“I noticed.” I said looking around.
“They are used to seeing people like me. They don’t care”
“Why not?”
He leans in close to me. He smelled like rotten meat and smoke.
“I look like a killer and I smell like a rat.”
I sit back and look at him. Amazed that he isn’t outraged by the people that pass him.
“I usually collect enough change to get me something small at the place.”
He points to a McDonalds behind him.

Compassion isn’t dropping a few coins in just so you can not look selfish.
Or putting a penny in if someone in need looks at you because of the awkwardness.
Compassion is treating a human like a human and giving what you would give as if
You were the one sitting in the cold street
Watching the world move on without you.