pork pie

pork pie I had gone to a poetry meeting the organizer had supplied pork pie and tea Nothing was expected of me, all I had to do was to nod my head sagely and applaud  the readers. A female poet of sweet verses saw me  putting pork pies in my pocket, we got talking she offered to drive me home but since I didn't have a home, we drove to hers  I ended up staying there until spring when ducks in the pond fly to a secret place for their spring break I took the train to another town and quickly  got a job as a doorman at a posh restaurant On the other side of my workplace,  a small cake shop where I sat before my shift and met Yesmin, the love of my life Charity should not replace dignity