a blister on his foot is so large when it pops, it's almost audible
It brings pain, then a spreading relief
later tonight when he removes his filthy sock, he'll feel the fire
but just lying down anywhere is a blessing
why do the homeless feel compelled to walk
where are they going
dragging feet wrapped in soggy, duct-taped shoes
haunted eyes searching
for what once was?
the bane of the 'civilized' ones
yet another beggar wanting their hard-earned money
once his hand held the crisp dollars
he recalls many paydays
before the drugs took his money
and replaced it with a needle in his arm
he reaches for one now
borrowed from another-no needle exchange here
but what does it matter
there is no one to care
and caring is a luxury, he can no longer afford
death would be sweet relief
he thinks of his daughter and weeps
he wonders where she is now
it is rare for the old eyes to be anything but dry
emotions are no good, they weaken
one must be strong to live this life
the others don't know that
they think he takes the 'easy way out'
when he has to beg
nothing easy about it
truth is, he rarely does
he tries selling items he finds
or doing one day jobs
the jobs, no matter how small
bring back an ounce of his dignity
he's able to walk to a counter and buy his own food
no jobs for a while now
his belly burns with hunger
A little girl comes up to him shyly
She thrusts her small hands out unafraid
A bag of food in them, she smiles a smile so sweet and pure
Her mother says, "She wanted you to have it, she bought it with her own money."
Dammit, what's wrong with him, he weeps for the second time today.
|
Author Notes
I dare say, I will be in esteemed company for this contest, but here is my humble entry. Thanks for reading. Inconsistent punctuation is intentional.
|
|
