by Julie Bihn
My eyes take note of him, but my brain pretends not to see.
A long gray beard droops onto his chest.
A dirty red flannel shirt and ragged jeans hide his withered body.
"Do you have any spare change?"
I rummage through my pocket and pull out all the coins, for him.
"Do you have any spare change?"
I pull out the only bill in my wallet, fresh from the ATM, for
him.
"Do you have any spare change?"
I come back with a hamburger, for him.
"Do you have any spare change?"
I barely hear the frail man's whispered words.
I quickly shake my head and walk past him.
Copyright Julie Bihn 1998
Please do not modify or duplicate without my permission.