Vagabond

Crisscrossed legs, scraggly hair
Face leaning forward in exhaustion.
He rests on a slant,
Body halfway extended into the center of the car.
His tiny torso resting on the edge of the seat.
One hand clutches his belt loop
while the other is stuffed firmly into his massive coat pocket.
His feet are crossed,
clean bright red socks exploding from his moccasins.
From 3 seats away I can hear
his muffled breathing and his nearly silent snore
Beside him sits an enormous backpack
Jammed full of figurines, crumbled paper
and stuffed animals
His skin is war-torn from the sun and exposure it seems…
Yet his teeth are immaculate and sparkling
Under the harsh florescent lights of the train car
Face mostly obscured by huge lenses,
A tough baseball hat featuring a bird of prey
And a scarf of tattered blue
As the doors loudly blast open and closed,
As fellow passengers trudge on and off the train,
He sits, sprawled and sleeping,
Blissfully unaware
as the city awkwardly dances around him,
careful not to wake him from his needful slumber.