I turned aside a beggar at our Pisa taxi rank
But later thought my repelling horror stank
As he tutted, swore and shuffled slow away
One chance encounter not to make our day.
I shuddered that he saw me and approached
Targeted when I was otherwise engrossed
Challenged as arbiter of this beggar’s fate
I chose to lordly point him to another gate.
Poor sod, who would have chosen Hell?
Wherein only tortured souls shall dwell
Where cents and hopes jockey emptiness
While his less is more but my more is less.
He was not the only beggar I so skilful skirt
Others too I skipped aside to miss their hurt
Skipped onto the other, more pleasant, side
And played the Levite to assuage my pride.
Well, arguments fly in to champion my part
While others note and scorn my frozen heart
Where lies an answer, find me one just reason
Perhaps we’ll travel soon, quite out of season.