A black man in his fifties
with pockmarks all over his face
shuffled in my direction on the sidewalk.
He carried a plastic shopping bag
that appeared to contain a sweatshirt.
His pants were torn near the knee
and he wore old fashioned leather shoes
that had probably seen more miles and time
than any pair of shoes, or feet
should ever have to endure.

‘Excuse me,’ I said as we approached.
‘I'm wondering if you're Christ.’
The man grinned, revealing yellow, decayed teeth.
‘Is it that obvious?’
‘Yeah, pretty much.’
‘Fine. Just don't tell anyone else.’
The man then continued on his way.
I headed home
to make a sandwich.