We sat in a bleak room
as he spoke.
He spoke of losing his job two years ago,
of a career that had abandoned him in his prime.
He spoke of his wife leaving a year ago,
of the bitterness of that loss.

And then he spoke of four cents,
of being down to his last four cents.
Of not telling his kids
because they'd tell the ex
and he didn't want to give her
any satisfaction.

He spoke of going to the food bank,
of gathering food that others would not eat.
Sparsely filling a shelf
and hoping his kids wouldn't notice
that all he had to eat
was food no one would want.

He showed his incompleteness for all to see
and all we could do was honor him
with our silence.
I have not seen him since
but sometimes think of his angry dignity
and hope he has found his way home.