The Way It Is ....

I saw the beggar at the intersection, squinted eyes pleading,

grimy and lined with dirt, his palms open in earnest request,

clothes disheveled, over sized on his thin and scrawny frame,

walking past the cars, peeking in at the windows and begging.

Until he came to mine and in his eyes, the spark of recognition,

of his having been at the same window the previous morning,

but then need overcame his shame and his face visibly steeled,

as he resolutely put forth his hand and repeated the very words.

And in spite of myself, my cynicism took over and I withdrew,

with a curt shake of my head, looking out at nothing in particular,

but didn't miss the hurt look in his eyes at the familiar turn down,

his shoulders slumped even lower in defeat at the cruelty of it all.

And I turned to see him walk away and move on to the next car,

stopping just that instant to steel his heart again for the rejection,

before he stooped and knocked at the window, palms outstretched,

half expecting the turn off even before he completed his request.

And my heart turned cold at what I had done, my instance of hell,

and I stuck my head out and called him back to redeem my sin,

for I realized that in my cynicism, I had overlooked his deep need,

to reduce himself to the possibility of rejection again and again.

As realization dawned that so many of us get deeply hurt at rejection,

but would any of us have a need so rooted to put ourselves out,

again and again to the possibility of that turn off, the cold shoulder,

and if that need could be anything other than just for life itself.