We’re at a 4 PM standstill
between a highway merge
and attentive ambivalence,
my eye catches the worn
brown jacket of a man
standing in the median,
he holds a cardboard sign
between fingerless gloves.

I lean in to read the writing,
the light turns green and
a few dollar bills are tossed
out the window, to the wind,
they flutter in the breeze,
he scampers to catch them,
and it irks me that this show
of zoo and tell has become
someone’s good deed.

The sign reads, ‘I lost

– B.

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