Was thirty dollars
In our mailbox
Got us through
In that sickly pea
Green upstairs flat
With the broken steps
Bread milk hamburger
More than just one
Can of lima beans
In the ready to fall
Off the wall cupboard
For my little sister and I
Until Dad’s next
Big-big-all-but-done
Deal came along
Dad said it was
Gary the nice guy
With the thick black
Glasses and shaky hands
At the photo counter
Rexall Drug downtown
Who once drank
Married to Kay
(Who always seemed
Too gaunt too worried)
Who’d lend a hand
To anyone he could
Whenever he could
Wasn’t the money
That got us through
Was the kindness
Was that simple

David Sapp, writer, artist, and professor, lives along the southern shore of Lake Erie in North America. A Pushcart nominee, he was awarded Ohio Arts Council Individual Excelence Grants for poetry and the visual arts. His poetry and prose appear widely in the United States, Canada, and the United Kingdom. His publications include articles in the Journal of Creative Behavior, chapbooks Close to Home and Two Buddha, a novel Flying Over Erie, and a book of poems and drawings titled Drawing Nirvana.