The fiend

I had not been seating on the bench long

That I was accosted

By two beggars

At the Queen Victoria’s Markets.

It was so near closing time

That only benches were available

The chairs being stacked and taken away

For the morrow.

The first one went from person to person

Scarcely asking for money

Just imposed his hovering presence

On the consciousness of the patron

Not waiting for an answer.

I shooed him off

Like one does with an irritating fly.

I had barely started licking my ice cream

When she stood in front of my neighbor

With whom I was sharing the bench

I automatically waved her off as I had done before.

Is there no end to them I thought?

While she crossed on the other side of the road.

She looked on the wrong side of fifties

With long grey messy hair

An open hanging bag on her shoulder

And the shuffling gait of one wearing thongs

She was obviously working the street.

There was something in the way she walked

That told me she was distressed.

She stood by the lights stopping every one

And with a wailing tone asked

Fifty cents pleaase!

Fifty cents!

People ignored her and kept walking

The manner she was dragging her please got to me at first

And reminded me of the market sellers shouting

And discounting their ware at the end of market day

It was so automatic that one could not hear anything

For the intrusive rhythm

 Fifty cents pleaase!

Fifty cents!

Then I realized what she was asking for

Not for two dollars

Not for a golden coin but for a measly fifty cents.

Every so often her touting disappeared

Then without warning it was back

Entering one’s awareness like a knife cutting into butter

One could not ignore her

She was there occupying the pavement

As an incontrovertible fact

Fifty cents pleaase!

Fifty cents!

By the time I had finished my treat

I was thinking that she deserved her fifty cents

She had worked hard to get them

And if that was what she wanted

I would gladly give them to her.

I got the fifty dodecahedron coin

And crossed to her

She opened her palm and under her index

I could see some stacked coins

So she was in need of these fifty cents

To get a feed at Macca’s which stood at the street corner.

A smile crossed her face

And she truly said thank you!

I felt like a fiend to tell you the truth.

23/01/2012

©L. Bailliet