Worthless Silver

Lonely.
With little riches,
Rugged clothes scantily wrapping
this disfigured caricature by the roadside
At the foot of Pizza Inn's trash truck,
Nibbling at nubbles of fries:
Probably the 12 left over baskets from Jesus' miracle.

Of course, the street harbours more hungry men,
Whose stomachs barely hold onto a baked slice of wheat and a sip of orange - breakfast
But wouldn't mind to generously drop a silver - in the name of charity.

His limbs, recently saw the surgeon's saw,
Nipped just above the knee,
Cupped at it's tapering ends
And in between the two stumps - was his all.

Worthless silver and an evangelist's flyer in a sunbeaten metal
The returns, from his entire days hustle.
His appetite sated, by the stale reserves at his usual spot.