Sunday, June 8, 2014

Do not Pity me

There's a woman around town I see,
Who turned and said, "Don't pity me."
With that she retreated in gait and in mind,
Pushing a baby carriage with garbage to find.

Her hunchback tells of a relentless quest,
It began with her daughter who lay in eternal rest.
Burned alive 30 years ago at the age of ten,
The woman blames herself now as she did back then.

The need to keep the gravesite clean,
Spread as a cancer, deadly and unseen.
Fed by guilt and neglected remorse,
Compulsion driven by malignant force.

But soon keeping the grave free of debris was not enough,
Garbage tormented her from the city center to the far off bluff.
The woman spent her days collecting trash all over the place,
Before retreating to her cats and decrepit home base.

Vicious rumors spread throughout the town,
People pointed, threw stones and pushed her down.
With pity I watched as teenagers approached her en masse,
And a rock hit her head as she continued to dig through the grass.

She didn’t seem to notice and no one else gave the scene much heed,
Except for me as I cried out, "Can’t you see you’ve made this woman bleed!?"
They only laughed and turned on me then, too;
The woman saw and challenged, "Now what'll you do?"

I hesitated a moment, not knowing what to say,
As the stones changed direction and came my way.
That's when I saw the look of pity on her face as she stared at me,
And in a shower of rocks, a hail of taunts, I too got down on my knee.

Together we scavenged without speaking a word,
The projectiles stopped, the taunts were no longer heard.
And just when I thought we'd finally been left alone.
I looked and there I saw three girls had joined us all on their own.

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