Broken Smiles

 

His teeth were jagged

razors in his mouth,

poking and pointing

in all different directions,

some broken, some blackened,

in a smiling Jack-O-Lantern face.

 

Bulbus and withered,

creased with crisis,

worry and hunger,

rashy and itchy,

plagued with unintentional

consequence.

 

She had a similar smile,

broken and bloody,

brown paper bag skin,

uneven eyes, slightly swollen

from long crying nights,

or screaming fights.

 

She smiled, despite the

state of her damaged teeth.

He smiled, despite the

damage he had caused

and the waning pain in

his swollen knuckles.

 

These broken smiles,

from the side of the road,

begging for change,

begging for a change,

made me turn my head away

as they looked at me.

 

My own face,

as rugged and wrinkled,

worried and tired,

slashed and sullen,

in my own selfish

concerns.

 

The light changed,

I pulled forward,

sadly wondering about

their broken smiles.

And my own self-indulgent one.