Robson Street Beggars

08/26/2009 § 1 Comment

I. The Angry Beggar

He opens his mouths to belch;
inside, a lightning falls heralding
a torn sky and a heavenly horde
free falling.

Our coins–
petty and loose change
not worth an ounce of pity;
but enough to appease a wrathful god.
a trumpet snuffed cold
Christ sighs hoshana, unhorsing.

II. The Smiling Beggar

That jolly fella
dirty hair and dirtier jeans;
his spirit undisguised.
Sunbeam smiles
and how-do-you-dos
much like I-love-yous,
for a shiny quarter?
A real bargain.

III. The Ironic Beggar

Steeped in his shadow
a Buddha under the Bodhi tree;
burnished coins not worthy
of a moment’s respite.

His straight shoulders
a highway to Nirvana,
a November tree
shuddering at bronze kisses
on the rim of a Starbucks cup.
he looks up;
he whispers thank you.
And in the dark of his irises:
I, his brother in hatred
for each other
and ourselves.

(Fall 2007)


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