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.