Impoverished Fate
She drooled over
the soggy fries
discarded in
the foul rust bin.
She feasted with
the famished flies
and cockroaches.
She bathed her throat
with the drink tagged
imitation ---
quenching the thirst
of her dried hoarse
esophagus.
In occasion,
she would look
at the portraits
of the people
inside and wished
for the same fate.
As they leave the frames,
she begged for
old alchemist mints
and cherished them
like fine aurum
that can be pawned
for a treasure
more valuable.
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