In Need of a Pen
While on the bus, he tapped my arm
And asked me for a pen.
I gave him one and realized
I would not see it again.
He looked to be a homeless guy;
The pen was old and cheap
And had he asked, I would have
Told him it was his to keep.
A few stops later, pen in hand,
He found another seat
And never glanced my way again,
Our interchange complete.
I don’t give coins or dollars
When a beggar makes a plea
But the pen request resounded
With the writing part of me.
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