Every body says I got it easy. Just sit there. People throw money.
Yeah, right! Goin’ to dissuade ya of that notion.
Don’t own those coins. Somebody comes along, fishes out the money. If I’m lucky, I get my breath freshened.
‘kay, but ya just sit there listenin’ to wishes.
That ain’t so easy, my friend.
Ya, wishes all right: to a safe place to live; for mommy to some home from the hospital, jail, or asylum; for a relative to stop drinkin’, or druggin’, or muggin’, or gangin’ or some combo of these.
Wishes for cures from childhood cancer; relief from chronic pain; for the head to “get right” again.
Wishes for courage, strength, spirit, soul, happiness, joy.
Whadda think, I got a heart made of stone!
I’d rather be Mort down the street. He’s been rehabilitated into a flower planter. Lookin’ particularly resplendent this year, if I do say.
People smile when they walk past Mort; too rarely smile when passing me. Frowns. Sighs. Tears. Oh, so many tears.