Free Lunch
FREE LUNCH
Poet, they name me, and then ask for a verse:
Especial for someone they hold in their hearts;
Rarely considering my oft empty purse -
Really a wallet, he muttered, self-conscious -
Yet brand stores for blank cards: them they’ll reimburse.
Muted thanks mumbled by even the staunchest
Coolly avoiding the pockets at haunches.
Dubious looks given freely instead
As they wonder how I can walk in their heads;
Incisively dredging soul-secrets to fore.
Dismiss me entirely until they want more.
Copyright © Perry Mcdaid | Year Posted 2014
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