Walk

The seemingly lifeless bodies line the streets,
wrapped against the chill.
A few glinting, wakeful eyes
look into our own,
toothless mouths expressing thanks
for water and a simple sandwich:
the weather-beaten homeless of
downtown San Diego.

"It's supposed to rain,"
says one lady with a cat
tied to her basket.
The cat sniffs my knee.
"but it doesn't smell like rain.
Those look like snow clouds to me."
But snow rarely falls in Southern California.

Our group moves on,
pounding the still-warm pavement.
The sun has gone down,
but the towers of
steel and glass around us
have trapped the heat.
The backs of buildings lack
the glamour of their fronts,
graffiti and trash defacing the scene.

The homeless have found each other,
and our leader knows
where they congregate.
We cross countless streets,
passing out ding-dongs
and bananas.

Outside a law office,
a man with
an air mattress
tells how he just quit
his job so he could
receive disability
and talks of a brother
in North Carolina.
The lady beside him laughs
how she failed home economics
because she couldn't sew.
They love Sunday comics
as much as I do,
and they're looking forward to
Saturday evening
when Wendy will heckle
the well-dressed opera-goers.
I've been to that opera house.

Then it's time to go,
traipsing back through the skyscrapers
by a different route
than the last one,
hands now empty of water bottles
and PBJ's.
We pile into air-conditioned cars
to return to the comfort
of home.
But the homeless
remain on the street.