‘… because I am good’

What secret tally
were we scratching in the dust
to count the hours
as sun beat on our
crooked backs 
and fingers 
blistered?
 
And at long day’s 
end – we saw those smooth-skinned 
hands, held out to cup
the coin – what rage 
dulled our senses,
so we hardly felt the weight
as the coin was laid
in our aching palms. 
     
And then his words:
  
Is your eye evil because I am good? 
     
insult to our injury,
that he should question us!
     
Fists clenching,
words strangling
in dusty throats – 
     
some left then. 
 
Some thought on,
the coin cooling
blistered skin,
palms slowly 
   opening. 
     
-Tom Ravetz