24 July 2016

Poem-A-Day #146 : 42

I still think about this man. He showed me where he had also been bitten by the brown recluse spider. Where the infection was boring a hole into his arm. Turning flesh into puss.

And I still charged him.

This poem is a reminder. I think of this man every time I feel my humanity slip.

42 (11/1/04)

He said his daughter died

That the service would be on Halloween

That she was bitten by a spider
while they lived on the streets

His jacket is too big for him

He is thirsty and wants a soda

I charge him for it
$1.60 for carbonated orange juice

I feel nothing until November
when, while standing at dawn
in a field

I realize I am cold

That I paid money to be cold

That I am in a field
in the mountains
by choice

And I charged him for a soda
the day before
he put his daughter in the earth

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