Handicapped beggars
fight for the best position
nearest the church’s door,
the one with spiked crutches won.
We who have communicated with god are in a mellow mood,
give more coins than we should,
which we notice with annoyance
when we pay for a coffee
and have to break into a note.
That’s why we scowl at the beggar in the town square,
ignore his outstretched, dirty palm and silly grin.
We are going church next Sunday too,
feel blessed while beggars fight outside.