TITHING MR. BLACK

Still young, I was cast into this concrete place.
Mom didn’t have the money for one more face.

Blind since birth, I’ve never known light.
By age nine, I developed a curious insight.

I could see into any strangers’ past.
As clear as others could see through glass.

All I needed was something to touch,
An article of theirs , it didn’t take much.

I sat, as usual, outside of the store,
Asking for change or something more.

I had my derby for the generous to fill,
By days end, I could afford a solid meal.

But before I spent what little I got,
I would see what others had long forgot.

Holding a nickel tight in my hand,
I saw soldiers dieing under one’s command.

I rubbed a dollar with my thumb and index finger,
A red-head with dreams of being a country singer.

I pressed a slick quarter to my forehead.
There, a girl losing her virginity in a truck-bed.

Putting my hat on my head, I walked the familiar route.
To a greasy spoon whose owner I trusted beyond a doubt.

I order my usual and hand the patron my change.
Though sometimes I’m short, it’s an even exchange.

I’m told to wait before I sit down,
Underestimating the generosity of a small town.

Apparently I was due some money back,
Then $94 dollars came my way in a never ending stack.

Overwhelmed, I asked “is this for real?”
I was told I gave a Benjamin to pay for my meal.

“Somebody gave me a 100 dollar bill?”
I was sure it was a mistake… until,

“could I hold it, just for a second?” I requested.
“Don’t worry, I’ll give it back” I attested.

As the tip of the bill touched my old fingers,
I shuddered, numbed by the vision that still lingers.

A poor woman with 4 children at the end of her rope,
High on mushrooms, acid and chain-smoking dope,

Has a frightful reaction to the venomous combination.
What once was a baby’s crib, now a demonic hallucination.

Peering over the side, the woman’s mind plays tricks.
Instead of her youngest, she sees the triple six.

Believing that her actions were part of God’s plan,
She removed the child’s eyes then woke in a police van.

40 years later, the day of her release,
broken by shame — she’s never known peace.

After a week of work, washing clothes,
Not knowing her son was right under her nose.

Another week goes by, she receives compensation
For the first job she’s had not requiring degradation.

Cashing the check, she buys herself an ounce of cocaine,
And gives the rest to regret, attempting to heal the pain.

end.