There are the temples.
Even the most humble need to manifest material
success.
Our guides and crew are incredibly helpful and
caring,
But it is the children that hold my attention.
Theirs is a heavy burden.
They are tasked with bringing home money,
And they understand, far more than the adults,
Without ever displaying anger.
For anger there must surely be.
We are told
They wish to offer friendship,
And will ask to hold your hand.
Two brothers, I will call Peter and John,
One twelve the other nine, understand their
mission
And we have a silly conversation while climbing
The path to today's temple.
Warming to their job,
They attempt to help me ascend.
I am silent when they speak of the family's
poverty
And young John's bad leg.
We are each playing our part,
But I despise my pathetic casting
As the eager American determined not to
encourage
These beggars into a life of ignominy.
When the children accept their role,
Perform with honesty and integrity,
The supporting caste tolerates, smiles,
But will leave the children nothing of value.
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