The Shoes that Weren't

The shoes that revealed most of his feet.

Soles and tops barely connected.

His dirty, dust body.

His torn clothes and disheveled hair.
An awkward lump in the back of the bus.

An awkward lump in my throat.

I don't know poverty.

And I don't know what to do it.

It makes me silent.

Uncomfortable.

Self-conscious.

Aware of my sheltered, privileged life.

Surprised at how close it is.

Unequipped to help well.

A bit unsafe.

And embarrassed that I feel that way.

Reminded how little my kids know.

Burdened with the need to pass on information;

Information I myself don't know how to process.

The blind leading the blind.

Which I'm pretty sure is a bad thing.

But not as bad as those shoes.