Who is more human?

Who is more human?

“Someone should be taking care of them,”

he said, sitting in his four-bed home.

“There really are too many of them,”

she said, sipping tea with her friend.

“It’s nonsense, the way they approach us,”

she said to her manicurist.

“I hate when they beg at my window,”

he said, after collecting rental from his second home.

“It’s ridiculous that they are everywhere,”

they said over dinner at a restaurant.

“Do they think we are made of money?”

she asked, in her branded sunglasses and coat.

“Why hasn’t anyone taken them away yet?”

he asked in an air-conned, catered meeting.

“Why don’t the beggars sort themselves out?”

she asked as she cooked a hot meal.

“Why don’t they leave us alone?”

they ask as they put their leftovers in the trash.

“On principle I don’t give them anything,”

she declared a few days before church.

“They really make the city look terrible,”

he stated on his international holiday.

“I can’t even look at them standing there,”

they commented from the seats of their cars.

I hear your comments,

I hear your disgust,

Your inability to empathise.

To you I’m less than human,

You won’t hear my story,

But you give me leftovers to eat.

You throw coins at me,

Or drop them to avoid touch.

You believe me worthless,

But you are my lifeline.

Thank-you for your trash,

It keeps me alive.

God Bless you,

Signed, the homeless man.