What He May Be

He may be an artist
he has a kind face
eyes that see yours
briefly as he passes you
on his way around the block
ragged blanket dragging off his shoulders.

He may be schizophrenic
researchers think
they have identified the gene.

His art is in his mother’s love
her arms hold his past
her heart; his pain
a beautiful baby with so much promise.

His pace is slower than the corporate workers
and office drones
a blanket over his shoulder
superman of survival.

We pass each other in front of a Nordstrom display window
happy people in expensive summer shorts
and no one moves to help the artist
schizophrenic son of a mourning mother
I move like the others
quickly to the right and out of his way.



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