Empty pockets
pressed against his thighs
as he squatted by the curb
with distance in his eyes.
The tattered sign,
made just this morning,
asked for a hand
but others saw warning.
Stay far away!
to them it screamed.
This filthy nightmare
doesn’t fit your dream.
And so the outcast
must play his part
and mine the gutters
while we fill our carts.
We are not equals,
us human beings,
we always have outcasts
on which we lean.
This poem was posted for the previous week’s poetry prompt, Outcast.
Poetry Prompts and Poems 
‘We always have outcasts / on which we lean’ – these last two lines are very strong and evocative.
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Thank you for your comment. We are all part of something large and interconnected.
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The difference between what the man’s sign says and what people see is what stays with me. That is all too true. 😦
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Agreed, we all filter what we see through so many preconceived notions.
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