A boy sits on cobblestone, his chin resting on knees.

In his left hand he holds a cup.

In his right hand he holds a sign.

The sign simply says "Please Help."

The boy's parents were gone long ago.

Since then he's fended on his own.

There was no place he could call home.

His mouth was dry and his stomach groaned.

On Tuesdays he walks by a science museum.

He draws his own pictures on painted walls, wonders if others see them.

The boy is downcast, no one cares.

His potential is like any child's, obstructed by circumstance.

In a certain view, the world is a bus in a junkyard

Filled with stories such as this boy.

I would acknowledge the waste of human value.

I would change the lives of boys such as this one.