the skinny beggar man
stands across the street
his hands open for lack of words
his knees and words falter-- stutter
next to him
a middle-aged lady
impatiently presses the crosswalk button
every day that I'm here
I see him. greeting
pleading, thanking
leaving, head hanging
and repeating
just for loose change
today he is wearing a shirt that
in big gothic letters
reads "royalty"
and I smile.
he is.
he is the king of frantic hellos
he is the king of pointy, unkempt hair
he is the king of politely harassing
he is the king of asking for what you can spare
he is the king of your reluctance, your refusal
he is the king of disappointed gestures
he is the king of gracefully moving on
he is the king of Piedmont Avenue