deep past the arrival of eve's night
long after the throng of the city's holiday paraders have gone
he is left far from the crowd, hopelessness his only companion
the avenues mostly still, mostly silent
the homeless panhandler remains in an alley
set against a structure where it's exhaust vents release warmth from below
he is posed for yet another long night's passing
the only place available to him where a freezing death may not find him
sleep may or may not come for him
half a bottle of wine might offer some comfort, for a short while anyway
as he sips his salvation, he journeys in mind
on a road traveled often, destination never to be found
where his future may lead him, he knows not
it seems that he has always merely tried to last into the following day
with a grimace he muses of tomorrow
when the sun rises next, it will be christmas day
not the best of days for him
truth be told, it could be only the worst
for he knows very well what this will mean
that his usual routine of finding nourishment will not exist
there will be no bakeries tossing out old bread
no eateries filling trash dumpsters with food deemed unfit for customers
only a mere fragment of passers-by from whom to solicit
but most folks crossing his path on this day will be just like him
with little to offer, not even a smile
snapping out from his speculation, he hunkers down upon the grate
trying to escape the bitter cold winds that seem to blow through him
he has found something to concentrate on
this is all that he has
so, we should all take this little tale to bed with us tonight
and recall it tomorrow as we enjoy our great feasts
in the warm comfort of home, with family and friends
for under the fate of circumstance
…every man could be a homeless man