She was begging on the street corner again,
an incessant mantra about sparing small change
mumbled into cold clasped hands;
I swallowed hard and felt the familiar
leathering of heart and mind -
not today, not now

I flushed through hot as with sudden fear
as thoughts of a drowning man came -
but not of HER frail frame sinking without trace
but of my own life flashing before my eyes
like a collapsing telescope

Looking for some change - of course!
What else was all this
poetry and personal fitness about
if not the gut-wrenching need
to sign my name somewhere
or to shape up good and strong
as testimony to a meaningful existence?

The sands of time are slipping
through my loosely clenched fist
like scattered gold dust;
I can only hope that
what has been lost to myself
has perhaps floated like thistledown
as enrichment to the lives of others...

But tell that to Maria
back there on Howling Waste Corner