Should I beg no more,
with eyes less hungry
as you gentrify the only home I’ve known?

Shall I hide my fears,
in shadows, head dropped, masking
my shame as you pass by?

Will cardboard scripture
pierce your heart’s news-cycled armor?
Will Matthew 25:40 get me ten?

Though your clothes refined,
your shoes spit-shined,
we are both street-corner beggars.

Begging for love,
for approval,
for a life eternal.

We are one in our wanting.