Herbert Holmes is

homeless

he heaves heavy bags of trash for food everyday

hunger scrambling across his tongue

less homes than people

houses hollow of happiness he hollers

he mumbles then

humbled and homely

his Heavenly father is the only one to visit him on the streets

huddled against high-rises,

underneath society’s hazy gaze

Maybe he hates or waits for

a harbinger of humanity

Herbert Holmes is hopeless

but no less than a man

so why do I hesitate,

feeling helpless