Beggar, midstream

He stands, head bowed
eyes staring out, his cap
held like a cup.

I've been here all day,
he moans, and I haven't
got one dollar.

The crowd’s restive, foaming by
the drowning man,
avoiding his anger.

Have a good day, he says,
showering down a beneficence
of nothingness on the sidewalk.

Glowering, he stands up full,
not much when all’s considered—
while the steady stream of feet take

careful steps around him,
Moses dividing the waters.
Their waves break against him,

fall back onto the shore,
this sorrowful stone,
unwashed, unrepentant.



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