He looked quite lonely when
He first showed up at the corner
Of Broad Street and Peal
A tattered shirt over
Khaki pants
But he was focused, head down
Paying attention only to his small world
As he lifted a door held by rusty hinges
And covered with stickers
“Popcorn for Sale” read a hand-painted sign he leaned
Against the wheels of his mobile life
“Seventy Cents per Bag” were the only words
I ever heard him say before he silently made change
And then one day his cart was missing
And so was he – and I only now know
How much he meant
To this corner