By Yasen Vedrin
(The Copper Bowl)
With heavy sighs and visible emotion,
At finding a poor cripple on her street,
A lady shares her thoughts with clear devotion
Regarding his repulsive, foul defeat.
“Oh, horror! Clothes so smelly, torn and shattered!
And tangled hair! Lice-ridden, I suppose!
I shiver looking at this creature, battered!
Why won’t he wash with Palmolive and hose?
Is begging not enough to buy some Ariel,
Or get a Gillette razor for a start?
To iron out his rags, make them more bearable,
And buy a little chair to cheer his heart...
Thus sitting on cement, what is he thinking?
The ants will crawl all over him, you see!
Oh, good God! With a headache I am sinking,
From fates so minor and of no degree...
Ugh, look! The sinner’s hand is reaching out!
He touched my lovely, beautiful mink coat!
If fleas infest my closet, without doubt,
I’ll surely know what note struck at my throat...
Why look at me? I take my napkin out,
For your deep grief has broken me in two.
Madame has shed a tear for you, no doubt!
A tear for all the suffering souls like you!”
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