You must have walked past me a thousand times. You’re just like the rest. You avoid eye contact…act like I don’t exist.
I heard you tell your young son, “hush!” when he asked you, “why doesn’t that man have legs?” Thank God for children! They at least acknowledge my existence. My legs, by the way…I left them behind in Afghanistan. My legs, and three of my buddies when our jeep hit that IED. They told me I was the lucky one. Yeah right. They got military funerals with all the trimmings. Hundreds of folk that didn’t even know them talkin’ ’bout how they died as heroes for their country.
Me? I just became the guy with no legs that nobody looks at, nobody talks to. Sure, out of guilt, a few folk drop a few coins in my hat, but that’s about it.
You think I like sitting here all day? You think begging is my chosen profession ’cause I’m to lazy to work? You try gettin’ a job when you’ve got an image seared into your brain that you can’t get rid of…no matter what…of your buddies getting blown to bits right before your eyes.
I’m a lot more than some homeless dude, sitting at the corner in filthy clothing, but you’ll never know that, ‘cuz you’re too busy ignoring me as you hurry by with your eyes averted.
Based on the “Silent Conversation” prompt for Inspiration Monday