Redeeming Ourselves: Late Night Poetry

You’re not a beggar’s son
but the beggar himself.
Your voice soft, convincing…
Why does it have to be convincing
for me to believe you…
to decide if I should put my
hand in my purse and dig for a few coins
to give you while you watch me with your sad eyes?

You’re not a beggar’s son
but the beggar himself.
And I’m not the first to walk away.
I’m not the first to question your honesty.
“Maybe someone sent him.”
“Maybe he was going to buy a pack of cigarettes.”
“Maybe someone else found him
and listened to his call.”

I’m not the first to come up with excuses
in hopes of redeeming myself
for walking away.
But I have not been redeemed.
We feel like we’d be cheated by you,
but we’re constantly being cheated
in vintage shops and over-priced cafes.
Your suspected dishonesty
could one day be suspected on my behalf.
Your suspected dishonesty
is someone else’s true calling,
and that should not be ignored.

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