Payback
Everyday he stands on the corner, holding
his sign up.” Will work for food”, it reads.
I’ve tried to ignore it, but he needs
some aid-and gathers his gaze towards me, old and
weary his face. Pock lines, Years of weathered disgrace,
substance abuse, hardship and troubled days revealed.
I see myself some years ago, dying on the bloody field,
the Angel of Death caressing my ashen face,
plucked from darkness by the peasant poor
on a rain-drenched field in Viet Nam.
It must be my time to settle old scores.
I ask him his name, he tells me it’s “Sam”,
I wave him towards me as I open the door.
“Thanks mister” he says, “Thought no one gave a damn”!
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