3 A.M.

A kid with a deflated red balloon

peeks over the booth

at Village Inn

at three in the morning.

His second-hand

Power Ranger

hand-me-down t-shirt

features a ten-year old

grape juice

stain.

His eyes -

bloodshot and heavy

with the weight

of dependent parents -

meet mine.

His hands -

calloused

like a thirty-year old

construction worker's -

grip the balloon

with white knuckles.

he asks:

"May I please borrow your ketchup?”

I oblige

and hand him the bottle.

He thanks me,

hands it to his father,

and returns to his french fries.

Author's Note

This is another beginning. What do you think?

Reviews

[cassandra violet]

I really enjoyed this poem because you took an ordinary every day, 10 second encounter and turned it into meaningful art. Through the observation of less then a minute you were able to say so much about this child and his life. So much emotion poured though- I loved it! You described him as a kid, but yet he breathed the air of age. Experience had molded wrinkles in his soul and you describe that beautifully. The imagery is great here as well, especially the way in which you describe his hands. GREAT PIECE! :)

[NoneOfYourBusiness akaK..]

you create a textured three dimensional image here which moves with the untold tale behind the moment captured~ gets the imagination stirring for certain~

[Coyote Poetry]

When I was young and free. I roam the bars and cafes looking for reasons to write. Usually always could find reason and purpose for a story. I like this story. The strange people are roaming around at three in the morning. A very interesting poem. Thank you.
Coyote

[.]

your a dab hand at creating a scene..like in a movie..you don't know the back story but you give enough to read into it...well done..