For Terry, the Old Beggar

poverty's sharp edges cut off the grey beggar tonight.
monsoon rains overpoured, becoming grave floods, sweeping him
from the bridge, where he had often trolled with a fair measure of hope.

between coal-coloured stalactite teeth, his gross breath, wan mouth,
an endangered smile, oily eyes, raisin skin, copper hair;
loose, smutty digits outstretched for some particular solution—

change to spare, a bottle of coke, a hot dog, a lead pipe.
living phantom rattled young children, disquieted air
of the earth, his chamber and bath (ordinarily trivial)

to those beyond stones, cloth huts, the doldrums of the have-nots,
targets of practising mendicants—grateful for temu,
the credit card religions, pseudo-prada, black friday options

humanityin memoriampovertysocialsijo

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