People at a homeless shelter do not
Look alike, talk alike
Or act alike.

In the day room where they also eat
One man is sprawled out on a couch
Beside two other men in chairs, one black
One white, both reading
Intent, alert
They’d blend in many places

I do not know their stories
But then I don’t know many
Wonder if I really know my own

It’s 98 degrees outside
The first day of October
These aren’t statistics hanging out
They’re people

Others sit against a shaded fence outside
Despite the heat
Despite the looks of passers by

They’re people too
With different preferences, delights, solaces,
Wounds and scars

Men, women, sometimes a young family
Trying to keep it all together or get it back
With the help of other people
Volunteers and staff who have their own
Blessings, hopes, and scars