she was stick thin,
a bird’s nest bobble of braids
brought together with beads
of hawk-eye colors
sitting on pavement’s crumbled ledge
prying stones from her knees
from a half-drunken sprawl
from a huddle over homemade hearth,
leaning over a fire, a murder
of marauding homeless men
came a holler:
“Hey, Goddess, cummmmereeeeeeeee,
you got sumpthin’ sweet
to make a man forget his hunger?”
hooted an owl-eyed oily object
of her run in the first place.
a baker, throwing scraps
for slandered seagulls, cast a cruel glance
at someone’s disgraced daughter
and wondered if a guy
might hurt himself on those bones
she slicked a look at all of them,
knew hard labor of hunger,
took on closest resemblance to lady
she could muster, swallowing her pride
for price of a piece of day old bread
she was stork-looking,
bent in all shapes of sorrow,
but determined never to go home
there has to be a reason
sparrow stands its ground
to swallow bits of gravel
on busy road
In a list
A contest entry
- Power, Placement, Perspective by JM Kenyon.
900 points, ended May 11, 2007, 34 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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she was stork-looking, bent in all shapes of sorrow, but determined never to go home excellent write, I liked the way the topic unfolded without the crude tones I see so often. Very well written piece! *hug*s and best wishes always... ~Genie~
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ty, sooften they are maligned, without realizing it is all they can do at that moment, their way.
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