Poverty: A Love Story

We know the story:
The planks creak under the chair's
sudden additional weight.
The wonky leg barely stabled
by a small stack of food stamps
that expired long ago.
The culprit leans back
in a careful balancing act
to lift his feet onto the porch railing
where more paint chips away
revealing the weathered wood
beneath. He watches the mailbox
–waiting–
for the welfare check to arrive
several cigarettes late in these parts.
His life complete.

We fudge the end.