Begging for Scraps

A beggar with a gamy leg scrabbled inwards across the thruway in Tel Aviv-Yafo, Tel Aviv, a small bird cradled in the palm of his upturned hand. In Rabat, Rabat-Sale a beggar with a gamy leg scrabbled outwards across the expressway, a small bird coddled in the palm of his outturned hand. Unbeknown to one another they started the day in exactly the same manner. ‘…get out of my way you beggar…!’ screeched the first beggar. ‘…and you mine…!’ shrieked the second beggar. ‘…stop begging…’ said the second beggar. ‘…and you, you stop…’ said the first, his hands waving. Germering Bayern and Gateshead Gateshead’s begged for scraps of linoleum. The alms man, espying them begging for scraps in front of the Waymart exclaimed ‘…away with you beggars, this is my lawn…’. This went on for weeks, the alms man exclaiming to the beggars and the beggars, Germering Bayern and Gateshead Gateshead’s, begging for scraps of linoleum in front of the Waymart. The beggars begged and the alms man exclaimed, neither one aware that the other was aware of the other. Alms, trinkets and scraps, chary for the charied. One would fare better queuing with the down-and-outs, the vagrant and soiled, spoons clacking, elbows elbowing, feet shuffling like cards beneath the splintered soup-house tables. Life bemoans the little, the beggars and hobos, the one-legged and downtrodden, the fettled and spoiled.