Give

Of all the public places, dear

to make a scene, I’ve chosen here.

Of all the doorways in the world

to choose to sleep, I’ve chosen yours.

I’m on the street, under the stars.

For coppers I can dance or sing.

For silver-swallow swords, eat fire.

For gold-escape from locks and chains.

It’s not as if I’m holding out

for frankincense or myrrh, just change.

You give me tea. That’s big of you.

I’m on my knees. I beg of you.