Like an American Princes Rubbing the Buddha’s Golden Belly in a Chinese Restaurant, the pig-tailed Girl claps her hands and drops The flimsy fortune, already As forgotten as the cookie Crumbs her father brushed From her cheek with the calloused Thumb of a busman’s Hard-earned holiday, And then she skips Out the strip mall door And into the blaring light Of another blazing, migrant sun. And all is right, he thinks, And ever will be. But how Could he ever know How often she would remember How often he forgot To smile.
But how Could he ever know How often she would remember How often he forgot To smile. by Jack Vian from Rattle Magazine Enjoying the content on 3QD. Help keep us going by donating now.
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