Panhandler on the church steps after Mass.

Panhandler on the Church Steps after Mass

Like a salesman who's learned
where the prospects are,
he waits for us at his rickety stand:
old crate and castaway cup,
swaying to his own liturgy,
coining psalms, his tireless jingles.

And now we are the trespassers,
having blundered onto his territory.
How we barter with ourselves
on finding him there, pausing
in a chill wind that slips through
our layers like a skilled pickpocket,
our hearts soft, malleable as worn wallets
as we turn away on the stone steps.