I’ve made my home on the side of the street

Living each day on a constant repeat

Though often I dream of a magical day

When I can leave this behind and move far away

So often I’ve signaled to cars on their trek

Though most don’t take even a moment to check

On the dirty old man and his cart full of scraps

Likely scared that I’ll lure them to some sort of trap

I venture to show them I’m safe and quite kind

But it seems no one pays an old beggar much mind

I even catch some people laughing at me

Making a mock of my deformity

I pay them no mind, I just thicken my skin

And hold out my fist in the way of the wind

Close my eyes and imagine the places I’ll go

If only some Good Samaritan would show

Eight crumpled fingers in tattered black gloves

Calling out to the masses for a sign from above

As they pass me I wonder if they think I’m dumb

For it’s hard to hitchhike when you have no thumbs