The Man With No Front Teeth who Offered to Help Fix a Flat Tire

two homeless men were fighting a few yards away,
repelled from each other by the sheer viciousness of their words
their bodies hurtled away from one another, one towards us,
the other bumped against a tree like a drunkard, collapsing on
his bag, venom streaming from his mouth.
when a man approached, entering my peripheral vision
and asked to help, front teeth missing, but at least standing,
I declined politely.
He stood fast straddling his bike, unkempt, half smiling
as I tried unsuccessfully to do that final roll of the bead
back onto the rim, knowing the next step if this didn't work.
He still stood there, now offering that he was quite good
at this, and I relented, reluctantly, because how can such
a man know how to fix tires on a racing bike, if he can't
take care of his teeth, his dress, his sad appearance.
He took the wheel, pressing his thumbs up against that
bead, rolling that tire onto its rim, handed it back to me
and disappeared.