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 ***** 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.
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