Quackery
True Story. Me. Homeless. A Park. Cleveland. Ducks. A woman and her child. Morning. Coffee.
A true story
as far as I can remember.
Mid-80s summertime.
I’m sitting outside a cafe
in Cleveland
getting my head together,
Sunday morning coffee
after sleeping rough
along the lake
in the park
off of I — 90.
I was looking
pretty good.
There’s a lot
you can do
and on offer
at a Texaco gas station.
Soft paper towels.
Lots of perfumed soap.
I remember when
you shut the door
on leaving,
a caring voice
called out,
“Thanks for stopping by.”
So I’m sitting there
in the ever-giving, charitable sun
and a pretty n’ pert
woman with her child
sits down at the table
next to me.
She asks me for
a napkin
and next thing you know
we’re chatting away
about taxes, jobs
road construction, dental hygiene
and soon we are
discussing
how we spent our
Sunday morning.
Of course, I lied.
But she truthfully
told me
she’d been at the park.
She had taken her daughter there
to feed the ducks.
However,
there were so many
“bloody” -
I remember she said that,
“bloody” homeless.
She rushed her daughter
out of there
and ended up here
at the cafe to
chill and calm down.
“I only wanted my daughter
to feed the ducks!”, she cried.
I excused myself
and got up to
get another coffee
but instead
ducked out the back.
I didn’t want her
but especially her daughter
to hear a homeless guy
bust a gut
quacking so hard.