Crippled chap at the corner, quarter helpless.
Come, smell the need. Sincerely frigid look
won’t discourage him from the goals set.
One dollar beer or a candy for daughter. Who cares?
Perhaps prayed to God too much. Or ‘ve been
orphanage nurtured street schooled, prison graduated.
Cold and hungry. Christ’s bird. Prophecy-filled.
Triple almost run over by carred churchloving
ladies and gents. Under the angels watch. Beautiful
irony-embroidered life. The never-up eyes, light.
It’s a long-long red light. I bet he loves it. Sight a quarter
or two. Here comes he, like the Christ himself.
Rushing forward his home-free perfumes. Window down.
Strange, I feel hugging him. It is mutual.
He sticks out his hand bequeathing his entire estate
of a dollar into my two quarter-full awey palm.
Roaring: PRAY FOR ME! I will. Take your money back!
But he can’t hear. Almost run over again
he guards his corner as usual. Stumped, I shift gears
loosing him in the orifice of the rearview mirror.
Don’t you hate green lights?