Forty dollars. That’s it. All day walkin’ hot alleys. Ain’t nobody want the last corn and watermelon I got here. My feet are burning, my hands are sore from leading this pony.
Now, pony, just one more alley. I’m gonna find you some water.
Watermelon, watermelon, red to the rind.Ann Bracken has authored two poetry collections, No Barking in the Hallways: Poems from the Classroom and The Altar of Innocence, serves as a contributing editor for Little Patuxent Review, and co-facilitates Wilde Readings Poetry Series in Columbia, MD. Her poetry, essays, and interviews have appeared in numerous anthologies and journals. Ann’s advocacy work centers around arts-based interventions for mental health and prison reform. See more at annbrackenauthor.com.
From: 50-Word Stories