The
sidewalk receptacle stood undisturbed,
by
passersby unperturbed,
in the
cold evening.
The old
man, face worn, brown coat torn,
pulled,
from the trash,
a brown
pizza box.
Box that
yesterday held a large pizza:
tomato,
pepperoni,
triple
cheese and anchovy.
Box that
yesterday passed round a room
with
glee.
No way
to un-see, attempt to forget,
pretend
not to feel, or try not to cry,
though
the old man tonight will not die.
The
brown pizza box held a leftover slice.
Box that
when opened seemed to ask why,
when
gods among men play with dice,
do the
poor and the weak pay the price.
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