Cathedral Visitors

A lonely beggar in a damp dark hallway;
A wooden crutch on broken worn-out flags;
They both will stay there waiting all the Sunday,
Too numb to notice how the slow noon drags
Its weary way to vespers when the porch
Is locked – and sleep comes hard upon the bricks
Of nighttime roads. The watch will shine his torch
And shrug his shoulders at that heap of sticks.
A foreign couple halts, consults its guide:
The altarpiece is fine, or so they say,
Spanish baroque, imposing, gilded, tall;
The trip's expensive and they will see all -
Or nearly all. The cripple at their side
Is an embarrassment. They look away.