Beggars of Montparnasse
Maybe I should give to men
Standing on street corners, whose hair, unkempt,
Brushes my face as I pass by —
I know how heavy it is on their shoulders.
“Un petit sou, un petit sou,” they say
Softly. I keep walking with a hard face.
Maybe I should. They hold their cups out
Their mouths wavering, their eyes blurred,
Their bodies bent. They hear it too —
Something inaudible I’ve just heard
Under the morning splendor of these skies —
And plumb like me unfillable space
Within themselves. They know today
Will be exactly the same as last night,
And every day the imprint of their pain
Lies on them like blankets. But they smile,
Whether or not I drop them a coin
Because the money makes absolutely no difference.
Athar C. Pavis