Riddled face, weary under clouds quite late,
night of hope screeches of decent meal to eat.
A boy cups his hands again, a hunched fate
plucking tin can on lanes primed for the elite.
Cold the body wrapped like soiled paper bag
approaching cars and men with dollar points,
and bypassed like a nameless stamp, a rag
while he coughs for some gentle plea: coins, coins.
Then, the waif rushed to me near the helm
claiming a folder got pinned on my backseat door,
with pure kindness in his eyes; I felt ashamed
casting doubt on his intent, my breath appalled.
“Thank you”, let’s talk a while was my invite
as we dined, the stench of poverty I dismissed.
Gazing at a warm face that spoke of grim plight,
he longed of math and arts , important on his list.
This boy, stirring me back to values of kindness,
received a free education in lower grade school.
The folder he saw, a prize I won as bonus
reclaimed my sense of charity, my inner jewel.
Thank You Contest: Patricia Ellis