VII
___
North of the factory on thirteenth,
he found front of the shops one winter
noon a green bill with corners jutting
out as it lay in the snow, buried under
icy mounds on the pavement. Charlie was twelve.
He marveled at the whole five ten pounds, on
the center printed, the edges fringed
as they begged to be saved. He pulled it gently
out of the snow and stood with that papery
hope, cusped in frostbit hands. Charlie was twelve.
He looked ahead distantly, and almost
felt a homey warmth seep through his jacket,
and Willy Wonka chocolate melting under
his tongue. On that cracked pavement he
indulged a shiver beside the cold. Charlie was twelve.
Searching, farther up kneeling in snow he sees
a woman, just looking up, her eyes wandering to the
fifty ten. She had a fur coat, teeth chattering:
it's hers, her eyes can't lie. He stretched out the money and
she took it delicately, thanked him curtly, strutted away.
Charlie stood there, twelve.
