Green Peas at Stake

Beggar Girl (Dewdrop 12)

Beggar Girl

People change their paths
to avoid you as if granting you
a favor, making you recall the blood
inside your worn-out shoes
and the purple veins creep up
your forehead. Your footpads
like tropical fruit -akin to papaya, mango-
were not made for panhandling
in Port Authority.
Still, you wade through
the passengers with your own pliant style,
and purring, prowling, prancing, adrift
on tiptoe, you bend your voice to
this cranky climate.
I watch you bounce about like
a child playing with flashes of sunlight,
and I question myself with a tone
I do not recognize. Then,
as you whisper some meaningless words,
I slip a dollar in your hand,
only because my ego needs
the grace of your smile.