times were tough

times were tough four days since meat helped feed their bellies; they were all hungry. he rose early, dressed, took water and a heal of bread and crept from the house. one wheel squeaked, so he carried the small wagon for a block before he set it down, turned to watch the birth of day, then set out on his mission. he walked the alleys and dirt roads and all the gutters in all the streets, in pursuit of any variety of junk and scrap metal, especially bits of copper. his shadow stretched long, to the east and still he had to cross back to the junkman’s door, before the sun dropped more than half to be home before it vanished. the woman called them to dinner. refusing to sit, the man bellowed ‘where in hell did this meat come from?’ she proudly told her husband their oldest boy had junked all day to buy it. the depression had taken the man’s job and tried to steal his pride; he overturned the table, dumping supper to the floor, his face florid and angry, ‘the day my seven year old son feeds my family, is the day they plant me. nobody eats the meat.’ the boy was hurt but the father may have hurt more. the woman motioned to the children, whispered ‘clean it up and eat, the floor’s clean’ and followed him from the room. they did. all the rest of the man’s life, even as the boy, himself, became a man it was never spoken between them. 03-28-11 ©tlp 2011