by Jeffrey Zable
On Powell Street a few blocks up from Market,
a rail thin, black transsexual in hot pants and a bra
is yelling at people, “25 cents. That’s all I need
to get something to eat!”
When I put a dollar in his hand, he says in a high-pitched voice,
“Oh my God, darling! You saved my life!”
And after I walk a few steps past him, I turn and see him
moving through the crowd, probably to the Burger King
or McDonald’s where he’ll savor his food
as if it was a gourmet meal,
and maybe say a prayer for me. . .
the one who saved his life.