Homeless In New Orleans

I saw him in a park in New Orleans, a bottle clutched in his hand. A man of the streets, no family, no home, no land. As I stood there and watched him, I couldn’t help but wonder why. Had he given up on life, was there no reason to try? Did it come from his youth, when he tried to keep up with a trend? Or some failure in his life when he lost and didn’t win. Did he have a lost love, and found comfort in a drink? Or, maybe a war with memories is too painful to think. With people passing by, pretending that they don’t see. He lies there in his fog, in the shade of that old tree. Is his life so hopeless, with all the churches about? I consider what would happen, if I just held my hand out. I wonder if he would take it, stand up and change that day? Or, let out a string of curses and rapidly, run away? I guess I’ll never know because I turned and walked away. But, I’m sure to think about him when I travel down that way.