Absinthe Eyes

There I sat on the corner of 14^th 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.