Leonard

 He sits on the corner

In a blanket, wheelchair locked

Muffler around his head, gloves on his hands

It’s cold in November

He lost both legs, but not in the war

Though that’s what he says

It was diabetes really

That’s what took his money too

They see him but don’t

Feel guilty as they pass; a pang of sympathy

A feeling of gratitude that it’s not them

Hoping he won’t make eye contact

He watches the parade

Young and old, rich and poor

Mothers, daughters, college students, cars whizzing by

It’s different every day, a moving tapestry

Some stop and talk, some are regulars

They smile and laugh together

He’s grateful for a friendly face

Sometimes they give him a dollar, or a cup of coffee

 He plays his harmonica, badly and loud

But it doesn’t matter really, no one cares

Most only hear snatches as they hurry along

And he does know two tunes

Someday he’ll be gone

Hardly anyone will notice

The corner will be empty, but not for long

Won’t be long before someone else takes his place.