Inspired by 2014 Miss Porter’s Speaker, Doctor Michael Fowlin. 

No one ever asks his name,

that man on the corner.

People walk by him every day without a second glance.

I know he has a name,

even if no one cares.

I know he has a name by the way he,

smiles,

at everyone,

he is never afraid to display his yellowing teeth to the passerby’s.

I know he has a name by the way he talks,

asking the time of day, “How have you been?”, “Would you please spare some change?”

I know he has a name by the scars on his arms,

he has been through battles that I have never known.

I know he has a name by the way his eyes sparkle in the park lamp posts,

he has seen sorrow that I have never known.

I know he has a name by the way his hands cup together,

in two perfect halves,

waiting for a drop of water or a piece of bread.

I know he has a name.

I.

Just.

Never.

Asked.

I know he had a name by the way I miss his presence,

on the street corner.

I know he had a name by the hand knit hat that he wore every day.

I know he had a name by the way the soles of his shoes,

were duct taped to stay.

I know he had a name by the miles that he walked,

through the busy city streets.

I know he had a name by the way he danced,

in the snow, during the winter.

I know he had a name.

I.

Just.

Never.

Knew.

No one had ever asked his name,

that man who was on the corner.

People walked by him every day without a second glance.

I knew he had a name.

Even if no one cared.

I.

Still.

Cared.

I learned his name on a rainy day.

I learned his name by switching on,

Channel 5 news.

I learned his name by seeing his picture,

Displayed in the HD color next to the,

“not pretty enough to be a model, but will do” reporter.

I learned his name when she said:

“Decorated war veteran, Alexander DeFan, commits suicide at the age of 55.”

I learned his name while a tear trickled down,

my cheek.

I finally learned his name.

I.

Just.

Learned.

His.

Name.

Too.

Late.