Broken Man
I’m downtown.
Sidestepping cracks in the sidewalks,
Thinking about life and love and pain and
where the distinction among the three faded.
I realized someone walked next to me
and turned to catch his name.
I was shocked to find the stranger looked a lot like me,
but on further inspection, knew it couldn't be.
The light seemed to have faded out of his eyes
as he stood and stared back into mine.
Lifeblood drained out of his face and left him pale,
ghostlike under furrowed brow and sunken cheeks.
The man’s shoulders sagged as if
he’d borne the weight of the world for far too long,
and had he been given wings,
they’d hang broken and muddied in the street.
He reached his hand out to touch mine and
something guided my hand straight to his.
He was cold.
Colder than I would have expected on a day like today.
This man, this corpse of a man, needed medical attention or a miracle.
I sucked in my breath and my heart ceased to beat in my chest.
I peeled my hand away from the storefront glass.
I tore myself away from the window and stumbled down the street,
ignoring the cracks in the sidewalks.
This broken man wasn’t me.
It couldn’t be.
