Rummaging through my purse
For the circles of shiny metal
That I knew were there,
Somewhere,
I looked up
At the tangles mass of hair:
Messy, dusty long,
The grizzled features
Of the weary, hopeful face,
The nervously moving hands.
I was not scared
I was not mad,
But sad.
I caught a glimpse
For just a moment
Of his eyes.
What a soul to which they lead!
I would that I could
Gaze through those glazed windows!
To learn, to feel,
To understand
What I can barely empathize with.
But I cannot know
His story.
I might have asked,
Perhaps even to receive
An intelligible reply.
But I did not try.
Why?
After all, there but for
The grace of my good fortune
Could go I.
"It's all I have...."
I said. I lied.
But you don't want to encourage this
My mind was quick to justify.
Everything is so relative.
I gripe about my job,
Or complain I'm nearly broke,
But I am rich
Compared to him.
What he would treasure,
Held between those
Gnarled, shaking hands,
I might run out and spend on a whim.
"Thanks so much, honey,"
He said.
To me.
His voice not as
I thought it might be.
He smiled.
I smiled.
With pitiful gratefulness,
The coins were slowly
Scooped away.
Seventy-five cents.
I'll never know
How it was spent.
But I'll never forget
To whom it went.
sjk