Tonight's Poet Corner: Shoes for the Panhandler

Shoes for the Panhandler
by Belinda Roddie

Cutting the price tag off a brand new
pair of loafers recently bought at the nearest
department store, I left the box beside a panhandler
with greasy brown hair and fingerless gloves,
her purpling toes protruding one by one from aging
sneakers with tongues that couldn't taste anymore
and heels that had given out sooner than the soles.

"I need food and money," she moaned to me,
shaking a chipped coffee mug of loose, meager
change. But as I walked away, I caught her
stripping away her old, terminally ill shoes and sidling
her blistered feet into my freshly purchased gifts,
sturdy leather enveloping her flesh like a mother's hug,
holding the last scraps of her humanity in place.