Grace on the Streets

I watch as he crosses the street

hunched over pushing the cart

the small wheels wobble along

under the weight of his life

gathered in green plastic bags.

His clothes are tattered and worn

gray strands of hair fall loosely

under the blue woolen cap.

There but for the grace of God

but is God’s grace so capricious 

doled out like food at the shelter

a spoonful of cold mashed potato

only so much is granted, it’s precious

and not to be wasted or used foolishly.

Yet, there he goes a smile on his face

as he wanders into his future

grace for him a pushcart piled high

with large green trash bags

and small, wobbly wheels.

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