Meeting In An Alley

I will trade you a story
For a warm meal and bed
To sleep upon this night.
As you cook, I will sing
You a poem, my voice
Like a orchid’s bloom.

Why won’t you take my story?
It has been three days
Since my last meal.

My voice is more like a stone’s
Plummet than an opening flower.
But my stomach grumbles
Still the same. My mind has thoughts
In twos and threes; focusing
Is a chore. I try to sleep
To forget my hunger, yet wake
With pain sharper than before.

I walk at night, skittish and mistaking
Every shadow for a vampire.
I must keep moving; every stranger
I meet could be a patron
Willing to trade a meal and a bed
For a story and a song.

Copyright 2013
A. J. Hayes
Give a poet a pen