one of those medium
sized kids,
with curly red hair,
and a very clean white
shirt,
knocks at my door
asking
for a donation of some sort.
he's got
laminated paperwork
and is wearing
an ID
badge on his pocket.
i don't see his
mother and father
anywhere.
what? i say to him.
he starts going off on
a memorized
sales pitch, rolling his
marble like blue eyes around
as he rubs the sweat off
his freckled face.
i tell him to stop then
go get
a few bucks
out of the kitchen
drawer.
he looks at me
and says, mister,
don't you want to know what
i'm collecting for?
nah, i tell him.
as long as it's not for
Kamala
or the communist party.
he scurries off
as i yell at him going
down the street
to the next door. hey,
i say, hey, if you see that
little girl scout
when you're out and about,
tell her i'm running
low on thin mints.
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