The Old Hanging Tree -Testing in the Field - Feeding the Body and Mind

Have I no compassion, camel light tipped with a crimson smear dangles
from unsteady fingers, lighter clutched like a child choking a kitten,
lavender walker supped up on 4 inch wheels and chrome brake handles
accented by fresh foam grips, crawls to a halt. "I need help,"
the graveled voice attacks. "No can do mam, my hands, they be full," says
the walking-gingerbread-woman, sweet but simple; carrying afternoon
cappuccinos and tired of babysitting for a paycheck. Gorilla hair coarse
and stringy, stroked into place by smoke faded finger nails, yellowed
by nicotine sunsets, the crescent moons of life long since waned.
The rushing calm of a craving satisfied, her head leans back in ecstasy
fumbling for balance as one hand reaches the walker the other
pulls down Jackie-O shades. She pushes, stops, smokes; pushes, stops, smokes.
A cadence rhythmically engrained in a pattern she holds like a child in her arms.
The caretaker supports an elbow and guides her off the sidewalk,
stops at the car door, "Look!" she says, pointing towards pink blossoms
dabbled on a green canvas swaying to a dance with the wind.
The woman puff...smokes...blows; puff...smoke...blows; puffs...smokes...blows...
"Let's go we're wasting time." An exit ensues stage-left followed by an entrance
as the friendly sparrow hops on the table, snags a stray piece of shredded cheese fallen
stray from the hickory smoked burger, and asks, "have you no compassion, we're all struggling?
even the ant, crawling on your arm, is hungry and hurting.