Yes, that whole thing is the actual title. I have a frisky editor. (Spoiler alert: it’s me.)
Written in my ’97 Buick LeSabre, at an intersection near Palm Springs, CA.
Original copy here. Read more poems at my Poems page.
Intersection (editor’s note: pretentious title?)
We all watch as the hobo crosses
All of us in cars
And in a hurry
He’s limping, walking real slow
So inconvenient
“Hobo” isn’t the word most of us use
It varies
“Bum”, “homeless person”, “that poor man”
He’s carrying clear bags, with clothes in them
Probably ripped, like the pants he has on
He’s finally crossed now
Thank God that’s over
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