The rain pours down, harsh, gray sleet

Mirroring the rain inside his soul

He slumps down the street, unseen by all

Pack on his back, limp in his stride,

The amusement of many, the pity of few

Though others are disgusted, he cares not a bit

The future is not college, or money,

Or a mansion, or a fancy car, or the latest

Technology – the future is only where he will sleep

Or what he will eat, or how he will live

But he knows the way around the city;

He knows the places that are dry at night,

And the nooks and crannies where he can sleep

When exhaustion takes over.

He knows the places where he can eat

And not be afraid

The rain, he knows, will not last long

Because nothing does

Before the next day, it will be sunny again

And he will come out, and find his corner,

And sit, and get what money he can

To buy food for supper

He can watch the world walk by

And not worry about bills,

Or taxes,

Or if he has enough gas

To make it home from work,

Or if the house has termites

Or if the roof leaked

The night before…

So who is the lucky one?

I wonder.