Beggars
Outside a Seoul department store,
the Buddhist priest smiles in our eyes,
proffers an amulet and blessings,
extracts coins and a signature.
Our coins are not enough. Too bad.
Legless, the Korean beggar,
torso dressed in inner-tube rubber,
propels himself by hand
through the street crowd
behind a box on wheels.
Music resounds from his box,
cheery, counter to his spectacle.
The towering bustling crowd
responds mostly with ignore,
a little with charity.
Yesterday's beggar was the same
but without music. Would he
have done better or worse?
Tomorrow's beggar? -
but we will be flying home.
Melbourne's beggar is tall,
his winter coat dark as his beard,
cap thrust forward, muttering,
convincingly derelict.
As we select which cafe door
to enter, he is easy to ignore.
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