Man on the Corner (A Poem by Cathy Gruman)

Standing there, he stares
with people and cars passing by.
Old blue jeans and white t-shirt.
Leather face and baseball cap.
His house is white with weathered panes
and a yard of dried grass.
He glares.
He engages when we stop
he responds and listens to our squawks.
Hanging on the next word, he longs to be a part.
If I stop, he'll cross the street to say hello
and ask me how I'm doing.
Sometimes I wave from a distance.
He stares from deep within.
He's kept alive from passersby.
I wonder if he were kept inside, if his stares would become mumblings
until he closed his eyes.