Dear Wigleaf:

Leroy named his shopping cart Lucy. He laughed and gave her a kiss. He wore green beads around his neck and climbed on his horse and peddled down the street. "Always Momma. Always Daddy," he said, meaning love, meaning for us—his landlords he calls us— even though we tossed his chicken-boned mattress once again and refused to give him money for pork chops. He likes ham, too. He liked my tortellini soup that one time I came outside and gave him a warm-ish bowl of it and when he wanted more the next day he made circles with his thumbs and pointers and rounded them in front of his eyes. I brought him the last of the soup and asked him why I had to work two jobs to make ends meet in this God forsaken city. He said he had five jobs—in fact, he said, he worked for the whole goddamn street—and then he said that God is good. He made him the man that he is today. 

Oh and Rasta and Denise send their love.


- - -


w i g · l e a F               04-29-11                                [home]