America 12

America sits
on the sidewalk in the sleet,
says, “Merry Christmas,”

to me, and I stop,
drop a dollar in the can,
but I can’t move on.

America sits
on the sidewalk. The city
weeps. The tears are ice.

America says,
“Thanks. Hey, you doing okay?”
I stand there frozen.

The night is silent.
He is still. He smiles. I say,
“Yeah, Merry Christmas.”