– John Grey
At high school, a car always came for the rich kid.
And girls flocked around him
though he really wasn’t that good looking.
He always dressed better than the rest of us.
And he had a wallet.
Whenever a dollar or two came my way,
I stuffed it down my pocket.
One day, the rich kid offered me a ride.
But I was too embarrassed
to tell his driver where I lived.
I just said, “My mother’s coming for me”
though our family didn’t own a car
and then, when that Caddy was out of sight,
I began my long walk home.
Every step I took made me that much poorer.
By the time I reached home, my legs were tired
and I owed just about everybody.
John Grey is an Australian poet and US resident. He has been recently published in New Plains Review, Perceptions and the anthology, No Achilles, with work upcoming in Big Muddy Review, Gargoyle, Coal City Review and Spoon River Poetry Review.