There's this guy who hangs about on street corners
He wears a tabard, saying that he's 'not begging'.
No one says anything, they only look down
And silently wave him away, when he comes close.
He asked me to buy him a sandwich once.
He gave me a wolfish grin
Set through poorly shaven facial hair
And cigarette yellowed teeth.
He didn't like my offer for me to purchase his lunch for him.
Maybe he felt it degrading, but probably not.
I wouldn't give him the money up front,
To which he spat in my face, figuratively.
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