a diseased panhandler
hunches against brick.
hands wrapped around knees
head bowed hiding a forest
of gray whiskers
and grayer eyes.
skin the color of khaki speckled
with coffee stain tears
arms cracked and bleeding
into his cup.
almost full now.
I drop a quarter into the red pool
and watch the ripples radiate
to the dirty plastic edges and gone.
god bless he says
with a soulless voice
bitter blue and ravaged by life.
the moon is barely visible
in the sun drained sky and
the black slanted ghost silhouettes
painted on the cracked
concrete streets file past us in
the falling light
as cars creep by in
impatient rumbling traffic.
everybody’s always going somewhere,
except the diseased panhandler
until the quarters make dollars and the dollars
make enough beer
to get through the cold
hard night rain
as a family forgets
he’s out there.
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