Through a Beggar's Eyes

-

The penny fell

Clink!

Hitting the rust-rough bottom,

And his enduring eyes crinkled in

Crescent-moon bliss.

-

Sang the pigeons, Thank You! In

All their ruffled/sleek pomp

And he watched, gaze milky,

Drooling shy

Childish glee

-

Feet strutting out to a

tap-tapping dance

Bowing to you, bowing to me –

Madam, how do you do

On this very fine day?

-

His own personal actors

Swirling musicals sweeping glittering

Across the dusty, baleful sidewalk,

Worth a thousand

Moulin Rouge golds.

-

And

-

Blooming breath into flaxen

Whimsical Imagine-things

Of glass-blown trees tinkling silky

To the rhythm

Of grassgreen waves,

-

And the mauve sweet fruits lying tender

Against his youthful lips,

And the lilting song

Of children fragile

With voices bubbling pure.

-

Of the everlasting sky shining a cold crystalline blue

Mocking gaily the wispy white

That danced among the Sun's golden

Graceful flowing strands,

Laughing as stars careened by.

-

And him, sitting in that

Infamous park bench

With the breeze in his face

And the morning dew on his toes –

-

Breathing in the world.

-

-

And thus

-

He did not hear the blaring horns

And rushed, empty footsteps

Of busy workers,

Busy students,

Busy mothers busy fathers –

-

Slipping past his corner

On dingy South Street,

Nor smell the choking black

Exhaust

That spilled over the asphalt

-

Or taste the desperation

Heavy in the air,

That beseeched passers-by

To spare

Just that one small coin.

-

And

-

He did not see the

Calculated oilshine

Of the ugly modern buildings,

That stood smug oozing thick

Mechanical – deadness.

-

That threatened to crush

Him and his fellow beggars

For marring the perfect conformity

Of that grinding, concrete

Development.

-

Instead,

-

The blind, old man nuzzled his

Face against the soft, welcoming sky

And laughed –

Blithe in the beauty

That glowed in his heart.

-