He leans against the old battered lamp post
just as twilight fades away
hands in his pockets
the lamp spills its soft rays on him
as if to assure him there is light left.

His rumpled gray suit
has seen its better days
perhaps in a high rise a few blocks away
it hangs on him like a haunting shadow.

Despair looms in his eyes
a frown droops his pale face
he barely breathes
staring at the drainage grate
just beyond his dusty shoes.
Has his life seeped down into the gutter?

He is bowed by some awful weight.
And I across the street
gaze at him
misty-eyed
waiting
in my own shadow.