He lays on the sidewalk;
tired, destitute, and most of all
lazy; deprived of any and
every effort possible.

'Spare some change?'
he says, and his voice
rises, and lingers
in the air like the dust
between his fingers.

He's talking to no one;

Many no ones;

No ones in suits, no ones with headphones
on, no ones with their heads glued to their cellphones;
no ones who are going nowhere,
and who got nothing going on themselves.

Or so he thinks.

A child walks by, her hand
in her mother's and she smiles at the man;

The man smiles back and raises his cup;
the change rattles and stops; the sun hits the copper;
it reflects off her blue eyes and she puts her
arm and hand up like shield.

He frowns and mumbles
something like the B word;
or so the child thinks.

She pulls her hand out
of her mothers and runs to the man,
and he raises the cup once again,
but before he can shake it at her,
she kicks him right in the shin
and runs back to her mother.

He doesn't bother to get up;

Stupid no one, he grumbles.

She turns her head and sticks
her tongue out, then smiles back
at her mother;

suddenly her hand is squeezed in
some kind of death grip;

she sees that
terror has seized
her mother's face.