• Posted: Oct 16, 2008 10:49:17
• Comments Welcome
• Vote CoolPhotoblogs
• Purchase a Print
Dust flowing in sweat. Labored breath laden with pungent humidity. Fungal itch beneath clinging fabric. Gnats, flies, mosquitoes whining at eyes, ears. Gnawing sick hunger in gut. Brain numb with lack of movement, lack of possibility. Gathered. Standing ground, but wavering. Charity, patience, humble politeness drained. Touch me wrong, I'll deck you so hard you'll never get up.
What have we come to? Faith. I put faith in these hands, in these shoulders and back. I put faith in the ways and ideas of my father and his father. But nothing has come of it. My father was poor. My grandfather was poor. I am poorer now than they ever were. And my son, my son is less than poor. He has turned the page. He has taken up with evil. The only way, he says to me, is to play it like the fat cats do. Take what you deserve. Leave nothing. Bear no mind for the consequences. Believe me, dad, it's the only way. See ya, I gotta go.
It brought tears to my eyes to hear that. He isn't right. He'll never be right. But this isn't right either, this heat, this hunger, this waiting for God knows what.
Wednesday, June 21st, 2006