The Meek
i by Ian Bush

        he stood on the corner, up from the laundry mat. Sandpaper digits held up a card broad sign that read “HOME LESS”. his lips buzzed,

  hummed “Amazing Grace” at the sky,

        clear blue, bone-dry and bright.

        Engines coughed

        and purred

        and hummed.

        Countless faces, all belonging to some other species.

A question for God: Who makes the stained glass in children’s eyes and why don’t they blink when they look at me?