Tell Me It's Not True Poem

.
.
Little Jewish man without a wife,
whose chance for victory has past,
waits like zen for something that
never comes. The busses go by and
the cars turn past him to the left,
.
and people in their pairs
smile ahead at something of which
they approve, welcoming eyes,
words that interrupt the air.
.
There were no tears
when he walked,
when he lost and spent
in the hollow city.