She was never any good at sitting
Restlessness came
When no one did
Refusing to let her forget
The ruin in their eyes
She knew best
How to walk, stumble
From bucket to can
As the wind cut by, wickedly
Unable to lift her strain
When breathing took its toll
She swallowed a penny
It went down smoother
Than the last ounce of hope
Now she sits
And waits
For a quarter
As they toss glances
And tip
Her heavy heart
© Copyright – All rights reserved – Melindafoshat.wordpress.com – November 25, 2014
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