rich man/poor man

he was just standing on the street,

staring at me as i began to eat.

hair disheveled and very few teeth,

face permanently relaxed in a look of relief.

"how's it going?" i called out to him.

he replied "pretty good" but he looked pretty thin.

he hobbled up to my table, a homeless man's walk.

he asked me for nothing, he just wanted to talk.

"where wur ya burn" in a think irish tongue.

the tour guide had told me not to say where i'm from,

but my accent would betray my unpopular ancestry.

so "the states" i said, relying on honesty.

"that's great" he said, and adding in turn,

"why've ya come? are ya here ta learn?"

i couldn't be sure if it was question or offer

so i took the bait, wondering what wisdom he had to proffer.

he told me that he was a student of life

and he walked a line between worlds, thin as the edge of a knife

"rich man and poor man, they're all the same.

poor men are made whole and rich men go lame.

the good lord giveth, and he taketh away.

this life is too short, take heed what i say.

let things of this world trouble you nothing, naught, none,

because life will pass you by as if shot from a gun.