At the entrance to City Market,
the man in the ripped yellow shirt
called out to the cars
with maniacal glee,
his laughter a symphony of madness
his smile gaping wide to reveal
missing teeth, his eyes flared
as if daring conversation. If he had
a cardboard sign with a few words
in permanent marker
to tell his story, I did not see it.
Why did I not stop at the curb
beside him and roll down my window
and ask him what he needed?
There he was in the rearview mirror,
still waving his arms as if begging
the whole world to wave back.