Bread for Momma

Words that crackled still spun
around inside his skull, poor boy –
you’re nothing but a poor boy.
And the words hurt, not
his fault they had so little since dad
passed on last year

and with momma being a waitress
six days a week didn’t help much
with three younger ones
always around looking for food.

Like little alligators, mom said.
Good thing the Food Bank helped
out knowing their condition. Trouble
is the bread was often stale
and wouldn’t it be nice to have a
treat, some fresh bread to lift you up
by the toes? Yessir the boy thought

as he shifted down the sidewalk
watching carefully for bullies
who liked to pick on kids like him.
Passing cars were an interruption
for his grandiose thoughts,
marked by a spot on his t-shirt
the colour of ketchup.

Then it happened, a little kick at a
clump of mud and off flew
a piece of paper, a five dollar bill.

It scrabbled along the sidewalk,
flew into the air followed by
a skittering pair of legs, determined
and finally success as one foot
stomped on the flighty bill. Five
dollars was a word not familiar on his
tongue. And the boy remembered to
buy some bread. Two fresh ones
for five dollars, momma’s treat tonight.

© Richard L. Provencher