The Beggar of 4th and E

There he is,
The beggar of Fourth Street.
He sits on his corner,
Fourth and E,
Everyday.
There he is,
The beggar of Fourth Street.
Dressed in a suit,
Slim-fitting deep blue.
Everyday.
There he is.

From my stand on E Avenue I can see him.
My stand on Fourth and E,
Opposite the beggar.
Today I gave him a dog from my stand,
Just an order I got wrong.
I feel sorry for my beggar,
The one on Fourth and E.

Today he woke up,
Between linens.
Today I woke up,
Between a beach towel and a derelict trench coat.
He,
Showered in a marble room.
I,
In a linoleum closet.
He,
Put on his suit and called his car.
I,
Put on my hat and walked,
12 blocks to the station,
9 from my stop.

Every day at 5:34 my beggar exits the glass door of his financial firm,
And looks up at the sky between the buildings,
Like soaring pillars holding up the sky,
A pantheon of success.
Every day at 5:37 my beggar slides down the wall of his building,
At the corner of Fourth and E,
As his employees leave the company,
That pantheon of success.

There he is,
The beggar of Fourth Street.
He woke up,
Wishing he hadn't.
Everyday.
There he is,
The beggar of Fourth Street.
He sits,
Begging for joy.
Everyday.

I feel sorry for my beggar,
The sullen CEO.
I feel sorry for that beggar,
The one on Fourth and E.