Yellow

    © 2012 Madelaine Nerson MacNamara

Voices criss-cross the silence between trains.

Eleven years old Mona Lisa processes

The length of the porcelain-tiled metro station.

Long flowered skirt, tight red scarf.

Eyes brandishing a lance and shield.

Thorough, professional, she detects a target. 

My fellow travellers set their face

Into automatic, neutral or reverse

Against the curse of street begging. 

I try magicking change into my wallet

Rummage twitching fingers 

For coins I know to be non-existent.

From the barricade 

of warm coat, yellow bench

I withstand her entreaties

Perplex her with nodded 

Smiles that don't manage 

To convince me not to mind her.

Once more I've left myself 

Be swayed, failed to fight our corner 

Despite, unlike my companions,

Lacking valid reasons for refusing alms.

Next Sunday's Gospel reading

Confirms: "Give to everyone who asks".