His voice is soft … but his words drop my jaw.
The unknown man says bitch the same way anyone else would say lady.
I hear no animosity or bitterness. I sense no barbs and dodge no jabs. In fact, his tone sounds grateful for the food and the twenty I’ve given him.
He looks into my eyes.
I know him.
He’s been homeless – begging along this highway – for at least four years. And by now, every passing motorist is an affluent bitch or a bastard.
In four years he’s lost fifty pounds. He’s acquired a shuffle and a yellow complexion.
And the light in his eyes has become something terrible.
on an empty stomach
nothing but gravel
in your Horn of Plenty
“I don’t know whether I was the boxer or the bag.”
In Greek mythology, the constellation is sometimes identified as Amalthea, the goat that suckled the infant Zeus after his mother, Rhea, saved him from being devoured by his father, Cronos. The goat’s broken horn was transformed into the cornucopia or horn of plenty.” (Wikipedia)