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.”
dust 