Grey Beneath Sparkling Trees

by James C. Morehead

on a crisp night

near christmas

my arms burdened by presents

my wallet drained

i search for a money machine

and find one across the street

but am unable to move

for underneath

the hummming terminal

a grey man

small

bundled thick in olive coats

torn blankets

staring

at passersby

and slowly moving his lips

taking a step across the street

and trying not to notice

i realize his focus

is now on me

and gradually understand his words

"please..."

"...sir"

"bread..."

"please sir may i have some money for bread please sir may i have some money for bread"

words spoken carefully

repeated

so soft few would notice

the few above him

taking money

that isn't for him

but more painful than the stare

and whispered plea

is the guilt

as i walk away

wallet full

assuring myself

that it isn't my fault