Packets of Hope

I walk by him every day
this man who sits in his wheelchair
bandaged stumps sticking out
proudly defiant
He holds out tissue packets
hoping someone will spare a dollar
Some stop
press a coin in his palm
and go on their way

I do too
but he sits inside
my head now

I see this couple
blind and old
their only support
is each other
and the tissue packets
they wave in the air
hoping someone
will buy them 
for whatever 
they can spare
They fumble 
for the money
a sightless smile
flits across their faces
Some tap them 
on their arm

I do too
but they stay
in my vision now

I notice this boy
young and crippled
slumped on the floor
defeat etched
in every drooping line
of his broken body
He clutches 
tissue packets
so tightly
there is no room 
in his hand
for the coin
he so desperately wants
His eyes gaze
at the pitiful haul
on the tattered cloth
spread in front of him
Some stop to drop a bill
ignore the tissues
and stride away

I do too
but he walks
with me now

Waiting to be used
and discarded
packets of tissues
pile up in my bag
not so different
from all these people
selling them

© 2013 Uma Venkatraman ~ All Rights Reserved