by Pavel Chichikov
A beggar with his pockets picked
The spoon is clean, the bowl is licked
Stubble stiff on cheek and chin
Ankles swollen, fingers thin
Beggar take me by surprise
With your dull beseeching eyes –
Give you money for a meal?
Can I feel what you must feel?
Shame and hunger win a race
To show affliction in your face
Rising up, a famished ghost
Whose nearness in the flesh is lost
No coin for you and turn aside –
Revulsion for your dirty hide
The brown of your beseeching look
The filthiness of your bad luck
Look at you and look again
Beneath the beard and sallow skin –
Is it You in a disguise
Of dirt and deep imploring eyes?
Too late, you've gone along to beg
Another stipend from the dead –
Harrow hell and harrow this
Parody of paradise
Visit Pavel's website at Grey Owl Press.
