Tattered Jacket

The air outside has a slight bite this night
My old tattered jacket might feel just right
Out I wander for a pleasant stroll on my own
Some walks of life we all must face alone

So I hit the road again, I hope to find myself
A part inside hid away on a dusty shelf
A wind picks up and I pull my garment tight
On winding path a stranger roams into sight

A wandering pauper by the looks of the man
Scars adorn the brow and palms of his hand
I smell the grunge upon him from his bed
In trash, dirt, and human filth he lay his head

Two alone downtown in silent confrontation
Fearing his gaze, he notes the trepidation
He stays on the far side, smiles so warmly
Greets with a wave, emotions go swarming

I test my pockets for coins but I have none
This coat might warm him from absent sun
I debate myself before him, feeling a bit ill
After all my beloved old coat fights the chill

We approach each other now, he draws near
I notice his shivers, he responds "I am here"
I unbutton the jacket and I feign my mirth
I offer sadly what fit me well since my birth

Putting on my tattered and dreary jacket so gladly
Now I can truly see how I have worn it badly
He doesn't mind the rip and tearing of remorse
Does not heed the sadly dripping stains' course

On him I see every aspect of my own imperfection
But he wears it fondly and without any objection
Then I am startled by the sound of my own weeping
Yet it is not over the tattered jacket I'm not keeping

His proud smile brings me a warmth I never felt
But it looks so heavy upon him that I soon melt
His shoulders slumping under weight unrealized
Sewn of burdens from the neck down to the thighs

And I walk with him

This poem was a finalist in the January 2023 poetry contest