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Array
(
[sid] => 35905
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Street Girl
[time] => 2004-02-22 17:57:26
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => When wandering the streets, You should never be alone. Yet sometimes I was; But never fully Alone. The girl. Seven or eight at most. Hair: dark, stiff from misuse. Eyes: deep brown and vindictive. Body: small, weary of ignorance. Clothing: ragged, wearing what once was a light purple dress. She lives, Loitering the streets. Taking what the guilt of strangers Offers and stealing What else is needed. She is stealthy and discreet, Always there When you least expect her. She doesn’t talk. Words seem to come, Linger in her mouth And disappear. Her face: stolid. Yet to look deeper is an unwanted and Odious gift given to me. She is melancholy and deeply needs attention. I never walk alone Or I will see her face, Sad and needy as it is. I sense danger, It is almost imminent and I must avoid! Today, I had no choice. I walked, kept my eyes Staring down. Just a moment, lost concentration Looked up. She was there. She glowered at me. Fright filled my senses, My fear was evident. The stare was chronic and I, Apprehensive. The tedious moments passed without action. I concentrated on my thought. Intrepid, I spoke. I felt something for her. Could it be…care? “What is your name?” My mouth barely moved Yet the words came out: Useless. Meaningless. I tried again, more emphasis. I succeeded: she spoke. I took her dirty, grimy hands. And we walked: Home. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 153 [topic] => 43 [informant] => mary0005 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 9 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops )
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