the other side

Straight ahead
I see the little boy -
the one that holds his tin bowl
and wears his shabby clothes
and an unconvincing forlorn face.
I see his mother -
the one who holds his little sister
and holds out her bowl
and prods the boy to follow people
who might make a donation.
And I think about the Good Samaritan
who didn't cross to the other side
who didn't harbor feelings of angst
and confusion
and annoyance.
I think about the priest
who probably did harbor those things.
And today I confess I feel like the priest
and I aptly follow him
and cross the street
to the other side.