Walking home from work, cold and tired I saw you, beggar. You making your way cold, dirty, covered in soot from a life-ful. You carried all in your bags; dirty and worn - filled with your needs and your memories.
You were making your way towards me. I walked towards you and I felt it.
Yes, beggar, I was dressed in my slacks and my suit and my tie.
Yes, beggar, I had my scarf and my coat and my gloves.
Yes, beggar, when I saw you I wanted to turn away.
I wanted to push you aside and to rest from a hard day’s work.
Like you, I too have had a life-ful.
Like you, beggar, I carry my backpack: sharp-looking black, new and sleek, with great zippers and ways to store needs and my memories.
Oh beggar if you only knew.
As you walked towards me cold and withered and as I passed you, it wasn’t the harsh cold that kept both of us walking.
Each in our shoes; each with our bags.
After passing you, I couldn’t ignore you beggar, I couldn’t just let you walk. I turned, you stopped, peeked in the parking meter in hope of something for you.
You and I beggar are one in the same. Regardless of the bags we carry, you and I we carry. From time to time, I peek, beggar, to see if maybe someone has left me a little something too.
You took my coins and I looked at your eyes.
Tonight beggar, we peeked, you were there and I was there.
Tonight there was a little something for the both of us.
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