Donkey. The Gift of Life.

They met under the shadow of a broken man
His stone chin grotesque and looming
His rings bulgy and glorious

There were more important things to focus on
Like the small group clinging to the shadow of his waist
An old woman was clutching a package, presumably filled with healing herbs

The wispy man approached her, sizing her up for authenticity’s sake
She looked him up and down contemptuously
“Do you deserve these herbs?” she asked

“Deserve?” the man started to walk away
Leaking wasteland currency
She didn’t pick up any of the donkey hairs
They were tainted with bad faith

The old man rubbed his chest
And he fell onto a clump of the hairs
The only things that could redeem his spirit

She sighed in satisfaction
For the most part


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