Sits on the sidewalk,
Holding out a cup,
To all who walk pass him,
He tries out his luck.
He cries out shameless,
Saying, “how are you?”
He waits for replies,
Of coins or probably bucks,
Using charm as his cue.
His face overtly happy,
Though he sits there and beg,
With a demeanor devoid of sappy,
He sits and spreads out his legs.
Is it his poverty?
Or missed out opportunities?
The thing that now confined him,
To sit there and beg?
While waiting for my shoe to get fixed, I observed a beggar nearby. He walked with a limp. He seems content in the state he’s in regardless of his condition. His exterior demeanor somehow hides what he feels. Probably. So I wrote this poem observing that.
