PoetryAloud

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Robert Nied Reads

​Judged

Tattooed breasts and the smell of cigarettes
You put your fruit punch and hot dogs on the checkout belt
I sized you up and assigned you a place in my mind and a place in
​     the world
It was easy, so many things to assure me
Tank top, yellow-black bruise and a food stamp card
Behind you I pushed my cart to the parking lot
You talked on the phone, stopped and began to weep
Then you started to shake, dropping your head like a bag of stones,    
     tears on the pavement
I could hear it all.  You were losing your child.
Unfit, unfit.
I thought of my son and wanted to hold him
I thought of you and wanted to say I was sorry
I thought of everything I did not know about you
And I was heartbroken.

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