by Corben Horton

A schoolboy digs for coins amidst

the gravel of a gas station parking lot,

collecting the spent ammunition which

his rich peers fired at one another.

 

In the grey half-light of a November afternoon,

in a tattered coat two sizes too big, he suffers

a barrage of the others’ pennies. They deprive

him even the dignity of quarters.

 

Shameless marauder that he is, he

grins, believing them foolish. Pennies,

he thinks, are worth more than pity.

A lie, perhaps, but a comfort, too.

 

A lone stick of jerky is the reward for

split fingernails and three welts

upon his back. Laughter followed him inside,

but silence echoes the closing of the door.

 

Old men clutching their coffee cups

watch him spill his change on the counter. One starts

to stand, his eyes marked by anger and grandfatherly

love, but the boy leaves too soon to notice.

 

None among their ranks would have

suffered the boy’s injustices, but

all bore witness without objection.

The air slowly fills with whispered justifications.

 

As the sky breaks open and rain

embraces the earth, the boy huddles

beneath an eave and relishes the peppered

beef, his miniscule victory.

 

He and poverty are old friends,

and in the echo of the storm’s thunder,

in the afterimage of its lightning,

he hears it speak to him:

 

There were once kings who gorged themselves

on the sweetest of fruits, on the fattest

of cattle, but none ever tasted the decadence

that now salts your poor tongue.

 

 

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Corben Horton is a graduate from Oklahoma State University with a Bachelor of Arts in English – Creative Writing. He has been published in Frontier Mosiac and Zoe Grace Publishing Magazine. Corben is an avid reader and writer of the fantasy genre, and even wrote a defense of genre fiction against academia’s criticisms for his senior honors thesis.