Thursday, March 8, 2012





He looked at me


by
Peter Frickel

He faced me with molded mind and a stare unmoved between stutters.

He gesticulated. Spoke with difficulty. Spat out the vowels of a language foreign to him. His right hand comforted a physical disorder wrapped in bandage while a mindful grimace stretched like rubber across his face.

All of him sent aches into me. I felt for him.

As I placed money in a hand that had never worked the fields that was delicate rather than strong I told him to spend it on food.

He replied with a grin through decaying yellow teeth that challenged: ‘I am in charge’.
I let him keep the money.

Walking away I realized how cunningly he had drawn me, how well he colored teeth.

No, I didn’t feel screwed; just proud of my counterfeit money.



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