He stood at the corner of a busy street
clinging to a tattered cardboard sign
with the words, HUNGRY Please Help Me.
The coins clinked into
his cup sounding like his
mom’s silverware.
He remembered plates filled with
sweet yams, steaming turkey, and
mashed potatoes covered in gravy…
then Dad’s drunken angry words,
Mother’s broken antique china,
...running out of the house
slamming the front door...
Memories left a bitter taste
sour bile deep in his gut.
He scratched the scabes on his unwashed
head, his sinuses ached from the stench
wafting up through the sewer grate.
He wiped the corners of his mouth
longing for the sting of a needle
followed by the sweet silence
of slumber filling his veins.
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