Written by: nette onclaud

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