This hobo has eyes
like empty snow globes
the scenery is still there
but it just doesn't seem to sparkle
as Sahara desert lips part at an oasis
slowing drying up like curbside puddles
mixed with dreams and gasoline
forming urban rainbows mirrored on his t-shirt
in blood stains
cheeto stains
mustard stains
grass stains
and an unidentifiable splotch of something
vaguely blue like his eyes but brighter
then his voice fills the air like a tree
tipping over slowly creaking and cracking
then a rumble and THUD:

Do you have any spare change?

without hesitation comes:

No sorry-

I can tell when his sigh sort of sounds
like a pigeon that he's not sure I'm honest

I can tell three steps later when I pat my pockets
that I'm not sure either