Saturday, February 15, 2014
A child looks into a camera lens,
so sadly with his big brown eyes.
Eyes that are filled with tears,
and devoid of hope.
I see him for only a few moments,
and then he is gone.
In the warmth and comfort of my home,
the football game returns to the TV screen.
It’s fourth down and 2. Will he make it?
I can remember the 800 number, how strange, how haunting.
It only flashed on the screen for a few seconds.
under the picture of the boy with the big brown eyes.
Out of body I see a hungry man walk past the telephone
to his refrigerator. Turkey, roast beef, salami, or bologna;
his choices are too many, what will he chose?
Turkey and American on Rye with mayo.
His plate full, he turns and sees the telephone again.
He pauses and remembers. The phone call…
The game is now over, we won, they lost.
I look at the remaining pieces of my sandwich on the plate,
once again my eyes were bigger than my appetite.
I walk to the trash, open the lid … and stop.
Will he make it?
I put down the plate, and pick up the phone.
Life changes for a boy with big brown eyes.
My life changes for the better as well.
He will make it after all.