As I exit the fire escape into the night, I walk by
a drifter sitting in a porch, rocking back and forth mechanically
in a fight against the cold.
He freezes as I reach out a couple of smokes.

"There ya go mate, you've got some use for 'm, don't ya?"

The bums expression changes from agitated
dispair into solid gratitude in less then a heartbeat.

I'll never get used to poverty.