[today]Apr 24th, 2011 4:25:52 pm - Subscribe

before towers
took root;
before train tracks
splintered out
like veins,

the rolling foothills,
the river valley
belonged
to the man at
the station

who asks if I
can spare a dollar,
because I
remind him of
his daughter.

he explains where
I can catch my bus
(I look lost)
he says

he's been there
all day
hoping to net that
spare change -
no luck yet.

and all I can see
is the prairie - once,
before the sidewalks,
before the stores.

that's the kind
of change
we hand out
to those who wait.

I remind him
of his daughter -
but I'll look after
my father
for all of his days;

and this daughter
has let him down,
just like the land that
should have been his.

I don't have a dollar
to give him, so I go,

but my soul stays
beside him -
on a bench at a station
in a city on the prairie -

also hoping
for change.

[I am]regretful.