A Man in a Hurry
March 4 2022
I pretended not to notice
when he held out a hand
and asked for change.
So many panhandlers these days
I no longer pay attention.
I fear I've grown inured
to suffering,
have learned
to deflect the blame.
It's the system, I say, not me;
capitalism
globalism
those venal politicians.
Drink, drugs
his own bad decisions.
And I admit
to resenting the imposition;
that I should be made to feel
guilt for my privilege,
shame
for my unbecoming stinginess.
But what about contingency, luck
the accident of birth?
Because there
but for the grace of God,
a single misstep,
events beyond our reckoning.
In my defence, I was in a hurry.
And anyway, who knows how he'll spend it?
And even then, if I'm generous with him
what about the next guy?
They say the better off, the less empathetic.
The Mercedes that cut you off;
the poor man
who gave his last penny.
So what about me,
neither rich or poor
cursed or blessed?
I read today
that the tent city has been cleaned up
its people dispersed.
The corner where the panhandlers fought
for prime real estate
is now unobstructed.
Who knows where they've gone
or how they got there.
But how nice
not to be made uncomfortable.
How nice
not to feel his gaze
have to look away
pick up my pace.
A man in a hurry
to get things done.
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