The Man With No Home
Dan Provost
With a quick reflex
of judgment, Laura was
appalled at the sight of
a homeless man sleeping
next to her mailbox.
To make it worse, he was an African-
American with a nose ring.
As Laura scurried out of the way, rushing
to her car to avoid being seen by the man,
she threw all of her mail on the ground.
The man with no home, hearing the heavy footsteps of someone running÷woke up, yawned, scratched his head and picked up her mail.
As he picked up a bill from A T&T, he called out in a heavy accent,
“Lady...Hey Lady.”
Laura, thirty years old, overweight, and overwrought÷stopped her frantic trot.
Not to confront the man, but being way out of shape, her panting was just too much to physically bear.
She slowly turned toward the man; ready to give him anything he wanted.
Money.
Credit cards.
But please, no sex...no forced sex.
Not with a black person.
The man with no home÷wearing soiled circa 1979 gym shorts and a tattered striped shirt with the breast pocket flailing in the wind; again called to Laura.
He smiled and said, “Miss, you dropped your mail”, and handed her the stack of letters, coupons, and catalogs.
Laura, less intimidated÷in fact now agitated; angrily took her mail and told the man with no home.
“Why don’t you get a job and find another place too sleep.”
She gave the man a piercing stare as she entered her Toyota, put the car in drive and sped off.
The man with no home shrugged his shoulders then picked up the rest of his belongings÷a blue sleeping bag with the goose feathers flying out, a bible, and a pack of Marlboros.
He lit a cigarette, and with weary, blood shot eyes÷gazed down the road where the accepted live.
He then opened his bible to where the verse “Forgive and Forget” appeared.
The man with no home silently chuckled to himself and began walking down the other side of the street.
Hoping to find another vacancy to call home tonight.
