Do you remember me?

Do you remember passing me every morning

Never looking me in the eye,

Your nose scrunched up into a ball of paper.

Was it the sepia moss stacked on my head

Or my eroding teeth

That had you whizzing down the crosswalk

With your Fendi briefcase in hand.

You smelt of cologne,

Of warmth, safety, love,

Wealth. Just enough to stack you up to the craters of the moon.

Could you not spare me a single dollar?

Golden rocks on your wrists,

The latest mobile by your left ear

With a young girl by your side flashing her avant-garde pearls choking her neck.

A little too young.

My gangling body moves toward you.

My stomach howls for grub.

My lashes swim in oceans of tears.

You’re too scared to acknowledge me.

Too scared to give the homeless old man money.

He’s mentally ill, they said.

He’ll rob you, he said.

He just wants a smoke, she said.

Do you remember me?

Do you remember me passing you at the crosswalk.

Looking you in the eye,

A grin slapped across my face.

A buzz cut on my head

With a flip phone in my hand.

An ironed, navy blue buttoned-down shirt

Blanketing my beer belly.

Do you remember me

As we meet eyes,

Our shoulders brushing against each other.

You don’t even flinch.

You don’t even look away.

You grin back and apologize.

Have a good one sir, you say.

Do you remember the old man sitting at the corner of 34th street?

See Ashley's page here.