There was a sad and empty look in his eyes. The curl in his lips and the speed of his words let me know that he’d scored meth recently.
I let him tell me a story about his recent arrest. How he’d cursed at the women who works at the fast food joint over there. She’d repeatedly told him that her workplace wasn’t his home, apparently pushing his buttons until he gave her a reason to call the police.
I asked if he’d been warm the night before, knowing that no one sleeping outside could possibly have been warm. He said he was a survivor, and that the cold and snow wasn’t going to get him.
As he thanked me for listening, I dropped a dollar and a few coins into his open hand. Walking away, I asked the universe to keep him alive… feeling a little guilty to be heading home.

— leest1 —



About Lee Stone -leest1-

The world is changing: Stand for Something. Soporte Para Algo. Independent Poet/Artist. Portland, OR · http://facebook.com/sonstone
This entry was posted in poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s