Don’t Look at That, Look at Him

There was a man, about 5 foot nothing,
Sleeping in the subway, dreaming about who knows what.
He wasn’t even really dangerous looking,
But regardless, people steered clear of him.

He had his tongue out, with crumbs hanging off the hairs of his beard and stache.
The stains on his hoodie looked like a splatter painting
He got stares for that, but no one really looked at him.

Passengers carefully walked around his feet,
like he was something to be avoided.
His feet that were covered in sneakers missing their laces,
And his hands that held onto an empty box of cookies, jutting out into the aisle.

What people failed to see was a human,
What they failed to see was someone’s son,
Brother, friend, or maybe cousin,
Who could’ve been dealt a bad hand, or made his own choices that led him here.

I think what people saw was a mess, a threat,
A dirty tweaker, a thing that people left two empty seats around.
Or maybe a few of them just didn’t wanna disturb him,
Good on those few.
But I saw real nasty expressions on those
Who were waiting for him to wake up and leave.

Eventually seats freed up, and people got up and bugged off.
It was just me and him now.
He in his unbothered resting,
And me looking right at him.