Monday, December 03, 2012
This morning in the laundry room,/ I learned that Jose had died./ Jose was a homeless man./ He stayed in the neighborhood./ He was kind and had a dog named Shorty. /He was eloquent and thoughtful and spoke like a poet. /
I'm going to miss the fixture of his cart./
I'll pass the corner where he spent temperate days/ and miss the inspiration he lent my stories./
I didn't know him well, but I'll miss him./
Occasionally, I'll wander what became of his dog.
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