Ray Freed

Saturday Morning - Poem by Ray Freed

He spotted me
getting out of the car
at the post office
and ran across the parking lot

could I spare a dollar
for a phone call home
Baltimore Maryland, he said

I gave him 3 dollars
he thanked me, his
eyes on the bills

he'd been through town a year ago
I'd given him a dollar then
for the same phone call

I gave it to him because
I'd been on the road
hungry and friendless
dirty for want of a shower
sore from sleeping on the ground
people looking the other way
the horizon close and bleak

I wanted to tell him it would get better
because it got better for me
but I didn't.

It doesn't always
work that way.

It was his business and
I'd been getting mail lately.

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Poem Submitted: Sunday, April 2, 2006

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