by Guy LeCharles Gonzalez

            The bum and I exchange a knowing glance
as I palm him a dollar,
my daily ritual as I go underground
            with the clueless masses.
It's a symbiotic relationship he and I have;
            a dollar towards his slosh fund
            for the occasional psychic flashes.
Words aren't exchanged             only glances,
and we go about our day
            my nine-to-five             a check every two weeks on payday
                       the thin line between us.
I think of him as I stand there
            next to you clutching your bag
            a little tighter now.
It's a reflex I know.
            Nothing personal           as you look me up
                       and down
                wondering where I fit in.
Did you notice him up there?
            Does he fit in
            in the world you hide in?
Does he speak to you in the lonely hours of the night?
Inspiration comes in the strangest faces
            but beggars can't be choosers                  right?

© 1997, Guy LeCharles Gonzalez
A member of the 1998 National Poetry Slam #1 Team Nuyoricans, Guy LeCharles Gonzalez is membership coordinator for the Academy of American Poetry.