In Line at Wendy’s

He was skinny,

that kind of skinny that speaks of neglect

or use of drugs.

Probably drugs, I concluded,

looking at his pale skin, dark-rimmed eyes

and scraggly hair.

I clutched my wallet tighter

and wondered if I had locked the car.

“Is this the only Wendy’s around here, ma’am?’ he asked.

His voice was pleasant and polite. I replied that I thought it was.

“I am to meet a gentleman here,” he said, “and wanted to be sure

I was in the right place.”

Gentleman, or dealer? I wondered.

A younger boy joined him. “Want anything?” the first one asked.

The boy ordered a drink; the skinny one paid.

Then he fished in his pocket, pulled out loose change

and put it in the donation box for overseas hunger.

“It’ll help out someone else a little,” he said to his friend.

I looked away, ashamed to know

how quickly I judged by looks and clothes.

 

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About grannysu

storyteller, writer, poet, gardener, countrywoman
This entry was posted in A River of Stones, aros, People. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to In Line at Wendy’s

  1. brenda w says:

    You strike a common chord with this one.

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