So Poor You Want to Hide

Knowing there is not a dime to be had, not even enough to cover the monthly bills, or buy presents for others, Christmas around the corner, Mangus thinks, Better to pull the curtains and nest in my books and the remainder of coffee and keep still until this all passes.

Mangus shuffles from room to room like a toy with batteries fading he sees the soft of morning blue and the days first clouds and reminds himself they are there for him too. Like his books and music, the he is outside with his dogs now, their tails wagging, bundles of perpetual love. Not so bad he thinks as one washes his hands with his tongue. Mangus saying, Thank you, out loud, eyes filling up at the same time, moved by the animal’s kindness.

Looking at the dogs he thinks, sometimes you’re so poor you want to hide. He goes back inside.


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