Cold Hands, Warm Heart

“Cold Comfort”

Ruddy-faced, the ragged wanderer wraps his

coffee cup and his smoke in one hand.

His other hand he keeps in the

pocket of his third-hand Mets jacket.

Whether he’s grasping something within

or he's just trying to keep it warm

is a mystery.  Chances are 4-to-1

no cash shares those five fingers' holey berth.

Joyous, head high, the urban drifter

throws smiles like sunbeams right into the

faces of these straight-life, shivering souls

with whom he coasts starkly bright morning streets.

Their eyes are up, too, but they focus

past the no one, the nothing, that drifts near them,

seeing instead only the faces in the

steamed-up coffee-shop window.

That’s the one framing the same

familiar frowning reflections as yesterday.