Mercy

The boy
Was pathetic.
His eyes were emaciated, dappled
Pools of hungry want.
His hands were outstretched,
Almost out of dirty habit.

His need was too great for me to fulfill.
He needed my burger.

Except that it wasn’t mine.
It was bought of my father’s sweat.
As were my guilty cigarettes.
He needs it more than I do.
As does every other beggar in this jaundiced city.
I’m hungry.
As is he.
The society?
The individual?

I gave him the burger.
I ate the burger.

His face betrayed no startled happiness, no
Glare of gratitude, that is so
Silently precious to practitioners of charity.
He walked away, insipidly; almost
As if his want had exhausted itself long ago.
My heart wasn’t filled with any warm, liquid
Love towards humanity, borne out of doing that
Which is morally green.
This quality of mercy was strain’d.

His half-hearted tugs at my undeserved shirt
Were ignored, until he
Went away, to spoil someone else’s
Appetite.

...

It is twice curs’d.