He picks out the cans and bottles
from our recycling bins in the alley.
I haven’t seen him in a while
and I want to ask him,
Do you live nearby?
What’s your name?
Is there enough?
His shirt is ironed perfectly,
as it always is,
and he wears a tie.
I smile at him
and he smiles back.
Fall is coming,
I say.
Yes, oh yes,
he agrees.
He turns the corner
and I realize he has already
told me what matters:
that dignity
is always possible.