Candy Corn Homeless Man
Halloween. Noon.
Maple and oak leaves fell.
They made art together at the curbs.
An inflatable ghost sagged on duty
behind a white picket fence.
Jack O Lanterns stood ready
to flicker and get creamed by
juvenile delinquents,
only they don’t do that anymore.
Social progress?
I walked on a sidewalk
poured in 1912.
A man carrying a bag of cans
with his left hand
rode a bicycle toward me.
He held a clear plastic bag
full of something
in the other hand.
Yes, he rode a bicycle
while carrying two bags.
I see it all the time.
I’ve seen a man carrying four bags.
His bicycle looked weird:
high seat like a unicycle,
chopper handlebars,
primary colors,
duct tape and wires.
Of course!
A homeless man’s bike.
They should give out
an annual award for
the weirdest homeless bikes.
No, make that the cleverest.
I stepped off the sidewalk
and into the street.
The man stopped riding.
He set the bag of cans down.
He was anywhere
from 30-70 years old.
His hair was long,
his face was pulverized.
He dug into the other bag
and came up with…
Candy corn.
Candy corn!
He ate it.
He smiled.