The Hurt Man

Tonight I was on the bus

And in its pale light

I saw a dirty man

Sitting to my right

His jacket was wet

From rain and mud

And from under his sleeve

Ran a dark stream of blood

I bothered to ask

What had brought him to harm

But he told me it was nothing

And covered his arm

He was surely in pain

And chilled to the bone

From his soaking-wet clothes

But I left him alone

I never did learn

What had happened to him

And I'll never know

Why his face was so grim

Perhaps an offender

Or victim of theft

He was still on the bus

When I left