Livin' In An Old Cardboard Box Poem by Philip Lore

In an old cardboard box,
Weathered and torn,
Lives a homeless, poor soul,
Shoes broken and worn.

Layers of hand-me-downs,
Keeping him warm,
A scruffy black beard,
His nails dirty and long.
Matted curly hair,
Just humming a song.

I looked in his eyes,
Hope and spirit gone.

Shock comes over me,
A tear falls down my cheek,
I remember his face,
Its Nicky the Greek.
He owned that cozy diner,
Down on West Bleecker Street.

He was always friendly, the crowds they would come,
He just sat there unblinking, continued to hum.

Softly, I asked him, how he ended up here,
He broke down crying, it's been a long year.
My diner exploded, such a tragic fire,
Killed my lovely wife, my love, my only desire.

Heart broken, penniless, down on the rocks,
This is why I live... he sobbed....
In a old cardboard box.