Straggled hair, matted, tangled
leathery dingy face
half-gloved hands shaking
out reaching, whispering hoarsely,
"Please buy my flowers. Two dollars.
A daisy for your lady sir."
Passerbys look furtively with scorn, disgust
as they scurry past to office monoliths.
Someone tosses a quarter and a few pennies out
as they pass missing her hand.
The quarter rolls into a sewer grate.
She gets down on all fours like a starving dog
picking the remaining coins like a monkey would pick nits.
She looks into the sewer grate as a tear falls from her eye.
No flowers were sold by her that day.
The next day, passerbys scurry once again to office monoliths,
not noticing the now-vacant corner
or the single daisy growing in the sidewalk crack.