Rufus said his prayers, and we pushed him
Out the boxcar door. He hung up in
A barbwire coil as we clattered down
Our sordid track. We spooned up all his
Beans then sat smoking his tobacco.
We tore his bedroll but found nothing,
yellowed letters with tears, pictures
Of his Pa—our shame before God.
He’d judged us on those scrubby plains while
We lay in straw corners, our guts full
Of hatred for what we'd taken, for
his crooked teeth and his shuffling gait,
But he'd tasked our generosity.
- Author: Perry (Pseudonym) ( Offline)
- Published: April 3rd, 2023 04:39
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 7
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