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there is a little black face white face boy whom I feed he comes to my door begging in a high-pitched plea I find him enchanting I worry about him he is a teenager he is alone he has been abandoned he does not like to come in but insists on eating just right outside the door he is alright with me talking to him as he eats he ate three plates of food the other night nearly without stopping I didn't mind as a matter of fact it made me smile to see him satisfied in this way he seemed so hungry and if this was all I could do for him then I was doing what I could I talked to him in a kind way quietly while he ate he came again to my door he does not knock he sits at the door waiting and when I open the door I am often startled for there he is our cat often is the first to know he is there to sense him last night he was anxious he knows we are leaving he saw the boxes piled up in the living room still I gave him the offered plate of food he ate with relish but not near the house this time he ate near the bench at the house next door as if the boxes were a kind of foreboding poor unrescued boy I saw the neighbor lady she saw us it was her bench we were sitting on I said do you see that boy he has no one he looks well fed she remarked I told her we were leaving month's end and asked would she look after him in my stead I felt a lump and water rise she met my eyes and said she would I believe she is a woman who keeps her promises this boy is precious to me but this boy would not be/ is not mine. Copyright February 11, 2015 All Rights Are Reserved By This Author Melissa A Howells Meloo Straight from her Tilt-a-World All poetry/prose/ideas/rants are the strict legal property of this writer This is a true story. But it shouldn't be true. Not all of the details of this story have been provided on purpose. Vote for this poem |
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