Crossing the Street

Old man stood on the corner,
About to cross the street;
Clutching at his shopping cart,
His face filled with defeat.

Initially I passed him by,
But slowly turned around.
The light went red to green but he
Stayed rooted to the ground.

He glanced both left and right and then
I knew that he was stuck,
Just hoping someone’d help him out;
He needed more than luck.

So I approached and offered aid;
He grabbed me by the arm.
“We’ll cross here first and then that way.”
He wasn’t big on charm.

He reeked of loneliness and pee;
His gait was slow as snails.
But I felt good for helping him;
That feeling never fails.

I’ve thought about him since that day,
How patiently he waited.
He didn’t ask or beg or plead,
Merely anticipated.

And I know that’s how I’d be, too;
I’d never ask a stranger
To help me out if I were down
Regardless of the danger.

It’s really sad to be infirm
With no one by your side,
But hopefully a passerby
Will manage to provide

That touch of human contact
That we need like cars need fuel;
It’s easy to forget how much
We need the Golden Rule.