The Joy Of Giving Poem by Lucy Moon

The soft snow fell secretly against the frosty streets of New York
Dimly-lit streetlights spread steadily across the rows of buildings like a toasty fireplace
Everything around me, even the bustling swarm of passerby's, seemed so warm
So comfortable
So opulent
So magical
If it wasn't for my fellow factory workers standing next to me, covered in dirt and grime
I could have convinced myself that I was happy....

But I wasn't happy
I was desolate, anguished, and most of all, famished
I survived the day in the Jelly Belly factory, with a minuscule cup of porridge (and jelly beans I've smuggled into my pockets)
I worked strenuously in a dust-covered factory to earn 12 dollars a day
It was a harsh, distressful life and nothing could keep me going
Except for my strong will to keep my hopes up roof high

The worst parts of my day was walking to my "home"
With my feet and my arms exposed to the chill of December, every step felt like a murderous pain
But the pain was only a tiny itch compared to the groan of my stomach as I pass by Granny's Diner
The swoosh of wind from the diner blasts a balmy breeze in my face
I feel my muscles - all tensed up from the cold - loosen up, like rubber, stretched and brought back to place
I feel a strong urge to enter the diner, with my hardly-earned 12 bucks, clenched tightly in my fist and order a creamy mug of coffee, but I don't
Instead, I glare at the two well-dressed gentlemen, with a half-finished plate of steak, gone cold on the countertop
A juicy, warm plate of steak, wasted

Shaking off all thoughts of despondency, I jogged down the alleyway towards my small rental building next to the pawn shop
As I sluggishly strolled up the dilapidated steps towards my apartment, I heard a steep cough, coming down from the rubbish-bin ally
"Hark! Aghark! Ermgh-ark! "
It echoed against the brick walls of the alleyway
As I peeked down the stairs, I caught a glimpse of tiny lump of rags laying stiffly against the rubbish bins
But through the rags, I could see a grimy skull, hollow and empty, with crinkled balls of black for hair
Her voice, though crackly and raspy, rang gently and serenely in my ears
"Please, dear, do not hurt me. Please, do not hurt...."
Her voice trailed off and she slumped onto the rags once more
The bony, fragile hand was still raised over her head in defense

My chest seemed to burst from pity and sorrow
"My dear lady, I mean no harm" I whispered into her ears
Up close, I could see her face was young and beautiful, a lady around her mid-40's
From my clammy fists, I took out my hard-earned money, my lovely $12 worth of savings
And pressed it against her dusty palms and enclosed her fingers around the green paper
I smiled proudly up at the sky, where Father would surely be watching me with a pleased gleam in his eyes

I started climbing up the shabby stairs once more
My chest, blooming like a small flower of pride