Waiting in Line
While waiting in a grocery line,
I see a small child.
She reaches high upon the shelf
for candy in the aisle.
The candy bar is out of reach.
She gives it one more try.
“Two or three?” I ask my wife.
Two and a half, she sighs.
Sweet girl dressed all in pink,
the bottoms of her feet.
Asphalt black from running hard
and playing on the street.
A shoulder strap keeps falling off
her shoulder to her arm.
The hair so blond it’s nearly white,
but adds a certain charm.
Black circles frame the hollow eyes,
as tears flow wet and warm.
The mother turns, sees the child,
then slaps her in the arm.
Another blow across her chest.
The child cries in pain.
“Here’s something you can cry about!”
She slaps the child again.
We want the child.
We’ll take her home.
We’ll love her, feed her.
She’ll be our own
She’ll hold our hands.
And we’ll hold hers.
A child of laughter.
We’ll laugh with her.
I’m on the floor.
She’s on my chest.
I lift her up.
She hugs my neck.
She falls asleep
against my shoulder.
Her mother lifts her,
loves her, holds her.
We hold hands.
She lies content.
We watch so thankful.
What God has sent.
The mother’s through, the groceries bagged.
Food stamps changing hands.
The beer, the smokes, the mac and cheese.
All placed next to the ham.
We’re moving now along the line.
The child and mother through.
The girl leans over in the cart,
and waves like children do.
The mother pulls the child’s arm,
as they move down the aisle.
The child stares, then smiles to me,
a melancholy smile.
We want the child.
We’ll take her home.
We’ll love her, feed her.
She’ll be our own
She’ll hold our hands.
And we’ll hold hers.
A child of laughter.
We’ll laugh with her.
I’m on the floor.
She’s on my chest.
I lift her up.
She hugs my neck.
She falls asleep
against my shoulder.
Her mother lifts her,
loves her, holds her.
We hold hands.
She lies content.
We watch so thankful.
What God has sent
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