Brave Polemic on Poverty

Imagine: the beggar’s bones
lurching across the dampened
roads, lurching across the land-
scape, untouched by the guise
of dignity; you’re owned
by his eyes—I’m sorry.

There’s light out now, no
troubles for the bones, a chair is there
to comfort them. His body creates
color. The shadow doesn’t cling to the wall
of his memory. It’s gone. He’s gone
to modest things—I’m so sorry.

Something settles within
you. Do you remember the hope
that you tried to pull? But then it happened,
and the beggar lost his role.
There is a need there. Too bad
he became you and I.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s