She prepares to beg.
Scarf tight, hands folded,
hem tucked under bent knees,
she sits in silence
as if readying for prayer.

She makes no eye contact,
she only sees shoes
and shopping bags and
what leg shows below the knee.
She casts no shadow
in the noon sun,
listening for the
clunk of a euro
in her Starbucks chalice
on the Champs-Élysées

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