At Least One Attendee
The browbeaten man marks my focal point
and his tattoo creeps at me
gingerly like a cat slinking home.
His grease lined face and strewn cups scream
a homelessness I can only hypothesize.
He doesn't see me as I slip into photographing
mode, clicking a picture so quickly
that I feel like a vagrant
from this vantage point,
a trespasser who will be moved along.
It is only alone and at home that I notice
another man, leaning in the background
while I focus on the elements
of walking, of sitting. This man looks straight
at me, watching my moves, assuring me
I have at least one attendee
and that I belonged
at that precise spot on the sidewalk
recording life while the world walked
around and away from me.