Panhandling

Panhandling


I sit on the sidewalk,
my upturned hat
in front of me,
hoping for spare change.
I'm forty years old.
I look older
because of the beard.
I've been on the streets
for twenty-two years.
I sleep on the sidewalk.

The sun is blinding.
My throat is parched.
I'm vaguely aware
of people walking past.
I feel disoriented,
light headed.
I can't remember
when I last ate.
I can't remember
much of anything.
My life is a blur.

Occasionally,
someone will throw
a quarter
in my direction.

Some jerk just said,
"Get a job!"
That's a joke!
Most people
won't look at me,
let alone hire me.

If I sit here long enough
the cops may run me in.
At least, I'll get to eat.
I'll be safe
for one night.