Screwy Beggar

You screwy test tube grown, testosterone filled,
jump at the mere sight of money man.
Don't claim civilized to me.

Civilized?

You, who swallows a month's pay
to say that the way to find purpose
is matching a silk tie to your new tweed suit,
while you strain at the sight of another beggar
asking for spare change at the bus station.

You put him to death in your mind
by rendering him a liar,
so sure that the change is for a bottle
of less than fine wine or some infected needle,
but you don't know.

Know a beggar?

You shudder at the notion of your favorite object
of adulterous fantasies from the office
seeing the two of you,
you and a man of the stench,
sitting on the curb.

If you had let your mind even trickle
you might have even thought,
"He should have learned English when he arrived." or
"Lazy. There's plenty of jobs in this town." or
"Bet his father was a drunk too ... probably beat him.
Good thing he is too drunk to father his own."
But you didn't even consider out of terror
the fearful notion that you ARE him.

You, with the money in "securities"
deep down knowing that the word is a contradiction.

You, with your every day
dependent on the health of a body
susceptible to cancer or lupus,
build your career in the sand
but facing the palm trees never the surf.

Perhaps it's a beggar you should be,
but not to another blind worm on the cobblestone path
from your office on the second from the top story
of a glass building
to the downtown garage a bit reminiscent of a bomb shelter.

Perhaps it's the Craftsman to whom you should beg
before the air turns sour and the water is fouled.

Beg for forgiveness for forgetting to beg.
Beg because you've squandered so much
that you've lost track.
Beg because wherever you've left your mark
it blends all too well
into a world of pain and confusion.
Beg because it's just plain honest.