Broke
Written Spring 2001
A man approached me,
his hair looked uncombed, and his shirt wasn’t tucked in.
He asked me, Can you talk to dead people?
I said, Sure.
A hopeful look appeared on his face,
Was it my fault my wife killed herself?
I paused, acting like I was asking her about it,
then told him, Yes it was, you should have treated her better.
The hopeful look quickly turned to despair.
His eyes filled with tears, and he thanked me.
I just grinned, and after he left,
I laughed, because I didn’t care.
A lady hurried up to me,
her eyes were blood shot, and she looked in desperate need.
She asked me, Have you seen my son?
No, I replied, Why?
She sighed, and told me, He is missing, please you have to help
me find him!
Why should I? I said coldly.
By the look on her face, I’d say she was shocked by that
reply. With her voice cracking she said, He could get hurt or die.
I laughed, and asked her, How does that affect me?
She just burst into tears, and called me a monster before running
off.
She might have been right,
but I didn’t care.
An old rusty car pulled up near me,
and it squeaked as the window was rolled down.
A man stuck his head out,
and said, I’m really low on gas, where’s the nearest gas station?
I told him, At the next intersection, take a right.
He thanked me, and drove off.
It was actually a left he needed,
and he was probably going to run out of gas,
but I didn’t care.
I heard footsteps behind me,
and I turned around seeing her.
I’m so sorry for hurting you, she said.
Really? I replied.
Yes, it was stupid of me to lie to you, and treat you like
that. Her voice sounded genuine,
and she looked at me like she meant it.
I told her, I’ve been waiting to hear this from you,
but it’s too late, I don’t care anymore.
I don’t.