Sleeping by the Don

there was a man sleeping by the don as i biked by
his bike wasn't worth stealing so it lay with him
he lay on the concrete partition facing the water
if that's what you want to call
the whatever it is that flows by
his head was on his sweater was a pillow

i thought, wow, that guy is cool
just sleeping by the don
on a sunday afternoon
i tried to guess his job
maybe he fixed bikes
or climbed rocks
or maybe he played guitar

on my way home, i followed the don again
and he was gone
but there was another man
he was shaking out a blanket, under a bridge
he did not look like a homeless man
he was filipino, maybe, and he was dressed
in second hand finery
a blue collared shirt and pants
and his hair was jet black and swept back
except where his gel had failed him
and the black strands fell limp to the side

and i guess it felt like someone had punched me
or made fun of some secret that i loved
because that is not what homeless men look like
that is no place for buttoned-up shirts
people sleep under bridges, friggin deal right
but not guys who are looking for jobs
beating down doors
broken english and a family a world away
waiting for some good news
from a breadwinner
who sleeps with a blanket under a bridge