panhandlers: a poem

earlier,
when I left work,
I stopped by Target.

I picked up some Kind bars for my lunch,
and some dark chocolate almonds
for when I write,
and some blue corn tortilla chips
for the salsa in the fridge
(on the verge of molding),
and a peanut butter trail mix for the wife,
and I left.

I then went to Carl’s Jr.
and got a chicken sandwich
(the one with bacon and lettuce and tomato),
and some zucchini slices
with a Powerade on the side.

not wanting to have to
explain to the kids
why I didn’t get them food as well,
or to have them
stare at me with their
sad and judgmental eyes
as I ate it,
I parked in a spot
behind the establishment,
and ate the food right there
in the car,
with the cold air blasting my arms
as the heat reached 92 degrees outside
and I listened to a poetry audiobook.

as I ate,
a man walked by the car,
ragged and dirty,
and I wondered if he was going to ask
for money.

a few spaces down,
a woman
(I assume he was with)
stood in the shade
of a dumpster boundary wall
with a Target shopping cart
pushed up halfway into the rocks.

random boxes and bags
were practically spilling out of it,
including an air filter
which I thought was odd.

she wore a tight black shirt
and red and black checkered leggings
like a stretched, cotton chess board,
and she looked ragged too,
just not quite as so.

I had no cash on me
(imagine that: not having cash
in a plastic society).
but I did have the snacks.

so, I resolved that if he asked for cash
I would offer half the snacks,
but only half,
and the Powerade.

he neared the car
and,
I watched him with interest.

he looked at my car a couple times
but never approached it.

he simply walked by,
looking at the ground,
and up and down the parking lot
as if looking for something in particular,
as if he’d lost something.

maybe money. or a ring.
maybe his mind.
or sense of self-worth.

but he walked on
and I finished my mediocre
chicken sandwich
which
I’d give a C rating
for its wilted lettuce
and dry bun
and burnt chicken filet,
but the zucchini rings were okay
and I never even touched the drink.

I drove off
and left the parking lot,
and I noticed a new sign
that had been put up
that made me snort
and inspired this poem.

it read:

“It’s OK to say NO to panhandlers!”

thanks for the suggestion
city of Glendale,
but I’ll decide
who I give my money to,
thank you very much.

###

This is a poem from my first book, bearing the burden of existence, available on Amazon.