Ash Wednesday

Sleeping bag man approaches,
is it the time he wants?
Or direction.

Red-rimmed, watery
his eyes don't seem to even see me.
Can I spare him some change?
Yes I can...

but that's not what I say.

A mumbled apology,
embarrassed discomfort.
Vexed, at having been asked
put on the spot,
exposed...

such raw humanity hurts.

Confronted by my lack of compassion
I start to question
why it is, that I
refused him...

where's the charity?

I sent this man with nothing
but his red sleeping bag,
slung over a thin shoulder
penniless, away.

As I sip my latte,
cupped warm in prayerful hands
I ask for his forgiveness.