He is
or on the verge of
A stumbling silhouette of a man
With one flip-flop
Perfectly at home along the ditch
Wading through the muddy discarded
Poverty had sucked his skin close to his bones
He was beaten and bruised
By a gang of time and weather
Still he crept forward
Draped in his finest finds
A barely distinguishable Disney t-shirt
Shorts bound to him by frayed rope
In his hand he held a sickle
Splattered in colors of fall
On his back
He carried a few dozen sugarcanes
Anymore would have grounded him
As he approached
His thinning white hairs
And wrinkles of misfortune
Gestured towards me
Through a crippled smile
I wanted to give some change
Possibly a folded bill of hope
But all I had was a ten
So I let death pass me by.


Originally from Ohio, Eddie Fogler currently lives in Virginia with his husband and two spoiled dogs. He recently received his MFA in Writing from Lindenwood University and is currently working on his first YA novel. In his free time and bouts of procrastination from writing, he enjoys reading, coffee, wine, a good Tequila Sunrise, and jamming to the 80s (often in that order).


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