He watched us watch him
Disgust in our eyes as he sat drooping
Taking a quiet drag
His crooked fingers
Stained yellow by bad habits
Clamped around his cigarette
It was all that mattered to him in the world
The other misshapen hand reached out
Trembling in its glove
Soiled by the filth of the streets
People looked away evading his rough stinking touch
Reaching into my pocket I pulled out a single note
Folding it into my clenched fist
He had noticed me approaching him
Just as before his arms outstretched
His tarnished claws cupped
Displaying his fingernails
Thick with dirt
His hands screamed for kindness
I placed it carefully in his palm
He grasped mine suddenly
His skin felt coarse, rough like sandpaper
His filth rubbing off onto
My own clean skin.
But beneath all that and most importantly
His hands felt truly grateful.
About the Creator
Molly Winton
Currently in my final year of studying English Literature with Creative Writing. I love writing short stories and poems. Check out my lifestyle and travel blog- https://mollywinthemiddle.blogspot.com/
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He Loved Her...
Can't speak yet she hasn't forgotten how to think Can't feel yet she still knows what is real Cornered she just cowers Tallying the hours until she's free Struggling in darkness to find the key's grace That will relieve her from this suffocating embrace
By Nichole Campbell3 days ago in Poets
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