We see him up ahead
and my son asks
can we give him some money
but he is standing in the median
and we are in the far lane
then a few blocks later
my son asks me
can we please turn around
we are late
and I say no
in that automatic way
that no’s come out
like an assembly line
of vague refusals
until I see in my son’s face
an ache so raw that hasn’t yet
been buried by haste
so we pull a U-turn
and make our way back
to the man
in the median
I roll down the window
and my son gives
twenty dollars
to the man
who has the softest voice
bless you so much
I said thank you
which I realized later
was to both of them
for pulling my heart
from the rubble
of all that rush.
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