Parsimony

He had a sharp look on his face.

Dirt smothered all over

Hands roughened by a decade’s toil

His clothes tainted by various occupations

     he held through the years.

 

Fumes clouded the air

But he was oblivious to all that.

He fixed his gaze to the street

Enticing bystanders to take a ride.

 

He held out his hand

As soon as he heard a passenger cry,

“Bayad.”

 

Each coin an addition to pay his rent

Each hard-earned centavo

Food to feed his children’s hungry mouths.

 

It was a quarter after two

The heat pricking his tanned skin

Sweat coming out of his arms’ pores

 

He took the towel he usually hung

     around his neck

Wiped off the trickling sweat on his forehead.

 

“Just a few hours to go,”

He thought to himself

Not minding the heat now.

 

About five more hours…

And he’s on his way home.

*Photo Credit: Ivan Jerald Gomez

Author's Note

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