Inhuman Poem by Robert J Meyer

What dreams are befouled behind that face –
Wind burned and cramped,
Smeared with dirt and spittle,
Eyes – not vacant – alert to another reality,
Lips posing questions or prayers – I don’t know
Because we crossed the street.

“He’s dirty, ” you said, “and probably mad.
Who knows how long he’s gone since last he bathed.
The air is fetid all around him.”

No doubt all that was true,
As was his desperate grasp on humanity,
And your refusal to let him keep it
For fear of assaulting that pert little nose
That cost more than he would see in a year – years.

But I let you pull me off course,
And at the time, I said nothing –
Just kept my irritation to myself
For fear of – for fear of what?
Of losing a good night kiss?
Of showing my disgust –
With you –
With him –
With me?