Broadway Avenue Panhandler

Misery gazed through beer-stained blur,
Despair in faded jeans;
enslaved by his habit, his outstretched claw
beseeched me donate to his cause.

A ghost begged another ride on his addiction.
His wretchedness reached out and slapped me lonely;
the squalid secrets of his torment
displayed like a porno movie.

An apparition of journey’s end,
the destination of choices not chosen.
His shabby figure beckons me consider -
Where is my port of call?

He shuffled his approach with eyes lurking despondent,
reached out shabby sleeves to accept my oblation	
then clutching the prize to his chest 
two-stepped back to his prerogative. 	

Copyright © | Year Posted 2017

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Date: 6/9/2017 5:04:00 AM
This is incredibly well written. The person comes alive with your descriptive imagery.
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Annette Gagliardi
Date: 6/15/2017 1:49:00 PM
Hi Darren, Thanks for reading, and for commenting. I think is is good, too. Too bad it's written after the panhandlers in my city -- only too real.