4:30 amSitting in my van,And I hear coughing.I gaze out the windowToward the McDonaldsAnd see the silhouette of a manStep, step, cough, cough, coughStep, cough, cough, step coughHomeless.  The shelter is nearbyAnd they are all over around here.And I wonder as I cough, cough, type cough,And pretend I do not see,What can be done?3 hot meals a dayA block away.A bed for some.But it is more than that,Demons that the benevolent cannot touch,Death that works its way into the heart, the lungs.And I think as we cough, cough, type, stepThat we are connected.And yet I notice him.And he doesn’t notice me.What does that mean?Nothing perhaps.Or not.

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