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Electric blues
| Open Poetry #5 |
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Electric blues |
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Marta Junior Member
since 1999-12-20
Posts 18 |
Electric blues He came in, just finished work, uncertain smile over trembling hands, so ashamed uttered he couldn't wait till his next paycheck; had to get food, borrow some money, laced his request with the promise to repay. I said don't worry, we all have debts, trust is the only thing we own; it's right here, printed on our notes. He returned today, slipped a twenty dollar bill furtively in my right pocket while whispering ‘thanks’ ‘I've never told you I didn't make ninth grade. ’ No need to explain, I replied, we’ve all have, at least once, failed. I drove off with the memory of his blue eyes, warm and cold stare, cobalt blue, castaway of the ocean bathed in electric blue, shades of indigo light storming from the heavens above in hopeful, wasted gesture. Red traffic lights replaced the cerulean glare, and there she stood, head down in her wheelchair, metal ghost, wheels of despair, a woman abandoned on a road, handicapped forever. I stopped and got off, gently touching her frail body moist with sweat, speaking softly in her ear with a ‘are you all-right?’ question, while I reached for that twenty dollar bill still burning in my pocket. She looked at it, incredulous, next to her small can of change, and yelled ‘wait!’ ‘wait, God bless you, you’ve changed my day!’ I spun around and hug her, pushing her chair, as she mumbled, toothless, Ronda was her name, short of breath, an alcohol smell mixed with the words ‘No one ever hugged me...like that...before... you know...I'm pregnant...’ My heart flooded with pity, guilt for all I had received, all she didn't get, while impatient drivers blew the horns over the smog, in the torrid air. I saw her again some time later, standing next to a cop, leg braces removed, folded wheelchair, like a Buddha with clay feet, a fake cripple in the mist of an era. The sight made me smile deep inside, yeah, nothing had changed, I still felt for this shark trapped in a fish bowl, as I remembered an old man's joke about those rules and the games we play: "The wise guy lives off the fool and the fool, from his work." Copyright 1998 |
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Denise
Moderator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-08-22
Posts 22648 |
This is an excellent piece of writing, Marta. I have a principle of sorts that I go by now...I no longer try to figure out who might be trying to run a scam on me out there in the streets. If someone asks for a handout and I have it, I give it...just on the outside chance that they might really need it. It's a small loss to me if I am being scammed, but it might be a big gain to somebody if they are really needy. And since God looks at our hearts, He sees any gift I give as if I were helping the needy, since that was what was in my heart! This poem reminded me of that! I might qualify as a fool, but I'm a 'happy fool'! hehehehehe Great poem, again! There is so much in this! Denise |
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bsquirrel
since 2000-01-03
Posts 7855 |
Wow. While, at first, I wondered where the poem was going, you showed me in quick order. I am deeply impressed. And also grateful that you let reality speak for itself -- in all its beauty and otherwise. Great work! Mike |
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First__Knight Senior Member
since 1999-11-08
Posts 678 |
"What ever you do for the least of these.....You have done for me." Jesus Christ. In those words may come the answer. I like how you wrote this and its story line is sometimes true. In this day and age it is hard to know who is a cheat and who is not. But if given from the heart you win every time.  Drive it like you stole it...LOL |
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hoot_owl_rn Member Patricius
since 1999-07-05
Posts 10750Glen Hope, PA USA |
Applauds!!! What a wonderful piece of writing this is. You have done a good job in portraying everything so vividly |
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