Within a square mile of what once was my home / The traffic lights of Santiago de Chile

A man in his wheelchair
Prudently tacking through the traffic
Red the traffic light

Hand up to each window

Weary asking for a handout
The longer it is red, the better the proceeds

Window open or closed
Open, the car has no airco but does have coins
Closed, the driver can afford airco but refuses the beggar

Dark brown burned in the Santiago heat

No legs in the chair
The man is an ‘original’

There are original beggars
And there are, as they say, professional moochers
There are honest beggars who know no other occupation

Next crossing, an old man on crutches
And one too short leg
What else could this human do here

Friendly tanned face with a baseball cap
He blesses you if you give him some change
I encounter him during midday, limping towards the cathedral

Coloured balls holds the lad juggling in the air

Jesters bonnet on and whistling watching through the front window
Yellow light, quickly collected some small change in his bonnet

A pour child with or without a snot bubble nigh the torrid road

Nearly always a little girl
And mama begs along the waiting cars

Sometimes lottery tickets or candy are offered

A man quickly wants to wipe your windows clean
Also fresh fruits are a popular article

Some are worth the wait

Fresh strawberries or melons of the country
But the people who are offering still are tired

On the TV today proudly the topic
Of the original way the pour of Chile
Scrape together their pittance at the traffic lights.