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The Turn of Hands The Turn of Hands
by David Barger
2010-10-14 08:46:19
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A man walks into the local bank
His feet tread over the cold concrete floor.
He hands the teller a crinkled check
Saying good morning with a smile,
As he gives a slight inadvertent nod.
She counts out the given amount
And he takes a Fifty, two twenties,
And a five into his worn and faded wallet
As he slips the remaining dollars into his pocket.
The man makes his way across town
Following the streets which lead to a convenient store.
He asks for two packs of light filtered cigarettes;
Taking the money from his pocket,
And he watches as it is placed within the drawer.
The drawer opens,
And the top dollar is handed to a young woman
Who filled her car to overflow.
She pulls into an apartment garage
Shutting the garage door once fully stopped.
She marches into her apartment complex
Where clothes lay on the floor,
And dishes are stacked along the counter
Piled up in a mountain of filthiness.
Her voice awakens the lover on the couch,
And her screaming echoes past the paper thin walls.
Her lover stomps his feet on the well laid concrete steps
Leaving the screams beyond the slamming of a car door.
She runs into the dining room
Finding her purse wide opened
Cash taken out and her keys are gone.
Her lover drives to the west side of town
Parking the car in an open lot
Beside a rundown strip joint.
He strolls beyond both swinging doors,
And orders a stiff drink
As the exchange of money and drink are made.
An older man steps around from behind him
Asking the bartender to make change for a ten.
The older man turns towards the empty seat he’d left
Sitting down he slides two dollars into the g-string
Of the beautiful dancer before him.
Time moves onward,
As he glances at his watch
Folded dollars remaining are placed into his front pocket,
As he stands ready to leave this playground for adults.
The morning comes around,
And he awakens to his family dressing for the day
So he too gets ready for the events ahead.
He returns the money in his pocket,
Slightly folded, bent, and worn.
He drives the family up the road to church,
And he trembles silently inside his tortured soul.
Each family member sitting three rows back
From where the preacher will read this days sermon.
A plate is passed around,
And the man hands over the worn dollars;
His hand shakes with nervous condemnation
As the money drops into the less than empty plate.


  
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David's Mom2010-10-14 16:37:47
Loved it! Makes you think!


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