There I sat on the corner of 14th and Center
After the long walk from the shelter
In my shabby coat, and my tattered, unbrushed hair.
Cars passed.
People spat at my sign from their windows.
They don't get that I can't get a job
That I don't have an address
That I don't have a place to take a shower.
On top of all that, I don't have a speck of green.
What a cruel day to be homeless.
Then she walked up.
With her blonde pixie cut,
Her green shirt and brooch.
Definitely the type of punk that laughs
With her absinthe-colored eyes.
Her piercings reminded me
Of the rainbows that leprechauns frequent
She got close enough to pinch me,
The tradition of the day.
She leaned down
And pinned a bill on my shirt.
Twenty dollars.
"There's your green for today," she said.
She disappeared around the corner,
And I had a hot meal for the first time in a week.
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