Beggarman
by Andrea M. Newton
He wore a cloak of cotton,
the hem was tattered fringes.
It was worn to holes in places
that many times were mended.
His shoes were laced together
with broken, knotted strings.
His pants and shirts were nothing
but dirty, ragged things.
He tied his pants around him
with a piece of yellow twine --
wrapped himself against the cold
in clothes of any kind.
The layers kept him protected
as he hunted through the garbage,
fighting dogs and other men
for the food he foraged.
I watched him day and also night
from my windowseat,
stumble through the cold, grey days,
shiver sleeping on the street.
I offered him in years long past
food, clothes, and shelter in my home.
He wrapped his cloak around him tight,
"I'll make it on my own."
I close my curtains on his world
dirt alleys where he'll die,
eating garbage as his drink and food
for nothing but the sake of pride. |
