The whispering beggar

The whispering beggar
Instead of walking on by
I want to stand before him
and say “I see you, you know –
you’re not invisible to me.
I think it’s cruelly funny and tragic
and wrong and yes, funny (more’s the shame to me)
that you would make so much more money
if, like so many of your more
savvy beggar colleagues,
you got yourself a dog.”
I want to say sharply, “I see you, you know –
and that fake-whisper ‘help me’ nonsense
isn’t going to cut it – either get in my face
and demand that I take account of you
or just sit there with your placard –
anything else is just insulting to us both.”
That is the conversation that happens in my head –
the one I am ashamed to admit,
even to myself.
At times like this, I wish I were a Muslim woman –
the rules of zakat are clear, at least to my friends –
someone asks – you give – simple as that –
my financial, emotional and spiritual obligations
would be so much more clear, I think,
if I were a Muslim –
but I am not
and so I live in the land of
having no idea what to do
and today
as with most days
when I meet the beggar on the street
I do nothing
and condemn myself to hell
But please know, my friend
(I say friend with no trace of irony,
although we both know I haven’t
been any kind of friend to you)
you weren’t invisible to me
not ever
I saw you
I just don’t know what to do with you –
well, without giving you the gift of my time –
the thing, it turns out,
I least want to give.

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There are quite a number of beggars in Edinburgh.  Many of them have dogs with them; and the ones that do have pets at their sides seem to get much more response from the passsers-by than those who do not, on its own an interesting and disturbing observation.  This young man had no pet at his side and when we walked by, he whispered, "Help me".  I hate that I kept walking, but that's what I did.  I get no credit for thinking about him without helping him, responding to him.