Man with sign

I don’t read
signs as a rule,
but the drive through
lane was backed up
and he stood
directly outside my window,
holding his sign:
I ate pickle beets last night.
No Coffee.
I drank the juice.

I deduce
he has to be
famished to write
such truth on a sign.
I roll down the window,
deciding at least I would
buy him breakfast and a cup
of Joe, so I offer to.

“Fool,”
he says, “I need
cash.”