Thoughts After Seeing a Five-Year-Old Mendicant on Jones Avenue

You cannot forget Cebu City’s sun-swept streets
On days when the world stands still:
You see hurts on these young faces,
Sweat-smelling bodies wrapped in shabbiness,
Their moth-eaten eyes having just feasted on the
Dark realism of yesterday’s empty dreams,
Their hurried walk, their brisk run—
That’s not enough energy to face the future’s bewilderments,
Their shoulders stooped against
One strident concern:
That of letting the day pass on to the next
With their legs intact:
For if
Legs are made for walking,
Mouths are made for what?
A good question:
I dropped a peso.