HOME

By Samantha Hsiung

He stands next to the building. Black bags sagging down to his cheeks, Chalky hair wilting to the core. Wearing shoes tattered to the sole And someone else’s threadbare shirt.

They saunter by, Dressed with heavy fragrances And polished shoes. Chins up, Smirks across their lips, Thinking they’re better Than the dregs of society.

And so they don’t give.

His penny box is Untouched. Barren inside, Except for the intricate cobwebs Coated in sheets of dust.

Days and weeks, Nowhere else to go So he still stands next to the building, The place he calls home.