On the Corner
I gave her all the money in my pocket,
cold hands clawed at the bills,
tired body leaning toward a temporary fix.
Her face curiously void of articulation
despite the history detained in her eyes,
like an old photograph warped and yellowed
they concealed a youth that existed once
in a pause and a flash.
If youth could see her now:
groveling, soliciting sadness,
beseeching the soles of the city,
like a stray dog looking to catch an eye.
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