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August 2, 2022August 4, 2022

Approached by a Beggar in San Francisco, September 2000

What did he want from me?


Not to ask for money,

like the stream of beggars

before him who needed

just a dollar or two.


Not to take my money

forcibly, he didn’t

look the type.

Not a cigarette,

not a light.


Not directions

from this young lamb

delivered fresh to the city

only hours before

and wandering lost as anyone here.


Not the bag

of clothes I had over

my shoulder, pressed tight

to my body. Because he had more

style than me.


His wild

blond hair and the moustache

of an artist. Denim shirt

unbuttoned, chest exposed.


What then?

what did he want, as he reached

out to me with sheets of paper

in his hand containing words

written in recognizable form?


“I just want you to read my poetry man”

Was all he said

as I brushed past the papers

in his hand and walked on,

eyes towards the ground.

I wonder about him now.


Does he still wander those streets?

Was he even real

or the ghost of a possible future?


Because I am that beggar now,

roaming these unfamiliar streets,

sheets of paper gripped in my hand,

arm outstretched,

chest exposed,

Begging you.

Author Bio

Eoin Cahill

Eoin Cahill (He/Him) is based in Cork, Ireland. A husband and father of two boys.  His work is published in Dreich Magazine and the Daily Drunk Mag. Find him on Twitter @eoinspoems 

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