I am one of the invisible ones. A boy on his bicycle and a man in a zipped denim jacket and wool cap walked past without seeing me. They saw me. They did not admit seeing me. They did not acknowledge me. To them, I am invisible.
My name is Wanda. My hair is grey, scraggly, and dirty. My clothes are old, threadbare and grey, in the way that only clothes that have been worn forever can be. I live under the bridge. I am homeless.
I was in the park today, sitting on the bench by the brook. The sun felt good. Itís a pleasant place. A boy rode by on his bicycle. A man in a denim jacket walked by. They didnít see me. I am human. Do not ignore me. Do not pretend that I do not exist. One day they may end up like me. I would not wish this existence on anyone, but one day they may. I am one of the invisible ones.
© Paul (AHikingDude@aol.com)
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