Some Bread for Momma

Words that wound keep spinning

inside his head. Poor boy

nothing but a poor boy.

Words do hurt. Not his fault

so little to eat since dad

passed away last year.

And momma being a waitress

six days a week doesn’t help

much – three younger ones  

scrounging for food. Like little

alligators she says. Good

thing the Food Bank helps out

knowing their condition. Trouble

is bread’s often stale and

wouldn’t it be nice to have

a treat? Fresh bread to lift you by

the toes? Yes-sir the boy thinks

as he parades down the sidewalk

having an eye for bullies who

enjoy picking on kids like him.

A passing car blows debris

in his direction -- paper

smacking against his t-shirt

flopping as a fallen kite.

The piece of flotsam really a five

dollar bill lay on the sidewalk

suddenly raised into the air

quickly followed by young legs

then success as a foot stomps

on the flighty bill. Five dollars

not a word familiar to his

tongue. But the boy remembers

to buy some bread. Two fresh ones

five dollars -- a treat for momma.