Was on my morning walk around the park.
Taking in the world up, yawning and cracking its knuckles.
The scene carried from yesterday, the day before…
failing miserably to get me down.
All the same, breaths laboured, carefully counting,
for the toil to finish.
Saw him a few feet ahead crossing the road
and coming my way.
A small withered body on a pair of purposeful legs.
A rag picker, clutching an out-sized sack thrown over his shoulders.
Heads down on the sidewalk,
not eying for more, content with the bounty.
The early bird had got the worms.
I took out from my pocket
a couple of tenners kept handy.
What ever happened to those twenties in orange?
When he came alongside, stride not broken,
lost in thoughts,
it was ditto with thoughts too…in other minds.
I gently tapped on his bony shoulders.
A couple of fogged but alert eyes looked up
from under bushy brows.
Concerned and it was not the constabulary…
Wordlessly I shoved the notes, worn but good
into his knobbly hand
that had not lifted up a wee bit.
I walked away suffused with goodness.
Happy moments. Why, verry…
Looking at and back was distasteful, I thought.
A few paces ahead, heard someone sobbing.
Looked around and found none.
Finally, I could figure out.
Confined in my pocket,
it was the fifty…for losing out
to its mates, mere tenners.