I was listening to Jimmy Jive give me a rundown on the orphanage he came here from.
We were parked feet first on Avalanche and Merci, where cars flow by like electric eels.
I can’t see staying here, he mumbled, friends all over been inviting me to visit, adding,
If only I had the money to stay out of trouble and be free from all the curses my life holds.
He says, Bobby, give me a smoke and I’ll lay a J on you you can have later with your girl.
He walked off with the the cigarette, swallowing smoke. Sure, I said, glad I had the money.
I don’t think about money now, I just wait to be surprised. It’s my girl who needs money
and earns all there is, one way or another, on the books or off, or tells me when I get some.
Here’s a surprise, she says, her white skin and red hair brightly shining as she hands it over.
Where am I going and what will I do to survive when she gets fed up with me and cuts out
for the Islands, Hawai’ian or Virgin, or maybe go to the city she only reluctantly came from.
She likes to show off her antic eyes, moving them the way she frolics when getting me up.
I look around as she goes out. It’s still in pencil. I go to the typewriter: Make some money.
(23 December 2013)
Copyright 2013 by Floyce Alexander