He asked me if I could buy him a hot dog.
But I was already bumming off a friend
and had no money, and told him so.
His pants were rolled up, too long
from the bottom of the clothing barrel.
The soles were splitting from his shoes.
His flannel jacket worn thin. He smiled, his
charcoal skin dry with shade of gray
from exposure, and shook my hand. Then
he told me he had just come up from the South.
He told me he liked it so much he might stay.