poetry

The Picture
by Carlos L. Luz

     In a roach-stinking cubicle
Lit by a dull red bulb,
I bought for P200
All that grinding flesh,
And sweat, but not the lips.
She took the crumpled bills
And opened her wallet.
Staring at it, her face
Suddenly softened to a smile.
Somewhere I had known that smile.

She showed me a picture –
A smart-looking boy,
Hugging a brown teddy bear,
Behind him a Christmas tree.
‘My son,’ she said.

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