by Fern G. Z. Carr
Tarragon-seasoned chicken breast
sandwiched
between grilled apple rings,
melted mozzarella and crisp arugula
on lightly toasted focaccia
secured by a long, rounded toothpick
crowned with red foil loops
in an embossed Styrofoam container –
gourmet takeout.
A haggard soul taps the driver's-side window
of a stopped car;
right arm amputated at the elbow,
left hand missing three fingers,
tap, tap, tapping and beg, beg, begging
for spare change
when dulcet words sing from the sidewalk –
"Excuse me, would you like a sandwich?”
Body twitches and spins around,
victim of the street – cruel dominatrix.
Startled eyes inch forward;
he snatches the feast
between his stump and remaining digits
and devours it.
A quavering voice behind a long-lost smile
whispers, "Thank you".
Another quavering voice whispers,
“You’re welcome.”
Tarragon-seasoned chicken breast
sandwiched
between grilled apple rings,
melted mozzarella and crisp arugula
on lightly toasted focaccia
secured by a long, rounded toothpick
crowned with red foil loops
in an embossed Styrofoam container –
gourmet takeout.
A haggard soul taps the driver's-side window
of a stopped car;
right arm amputated at the elbow,
left hand missing three fingers,
tap, tap, tapping and beg, beg, begging
for spare change
when dulcet words sing from the sidewalk –
"Excuse me, would you like a sandwich?”
Body twitches and spins around,
victim of the street – cruel dominatrix.
Startled eyes inch forward;
he snatches the feast
between his stump and remaining digits
and devours it.
A quavering voice behind a long-lost smile
whispers, "Thank you".
Another quavering voice whispers,
“You’re welcome.”
