Beggars All

A poem comes in disguise

like a beggar in the mall.

Some sit and look pitiful

and can not meet your eyes.

Others have a story,

"My sister's fatally sick in Ukiah,

please help us we've run out of gas."

Some poems work subliminally,

you wonder if they might be

from another world. They stand

in busy walkways and

chant, "spare change" under

their rancid breath seemingly

oblivious of you.

Some wear their sign

that tells their life, a life

that might be yours.

Others affect an air of casualness,

as if they were your best friend,

"Say, you got a quarter?"

And then there's the one

in whom you sense such doom

and menace that

you have to cross the street.

You drop your metaphor

in the cups, because

you never know

whether any of them

will work for food,

whether any will really work.

                        Alix Hellas