Friday Fictioneers photo prompt from Rochellewisoff.com. Photo by Roger Bultot.
Lost and Hungry
I bit into the fried pickle,
And realized my predicament.
Ellie urged that falafel was near.
She left me, a novice New Yorker.
Sour juice down my chin,
I knew, my wallet was gone.
My friend was gone.
The falafel place non-existent.
Clearly in the Twilight Zone,
I ran back toward the pickle booth.
Gone.
Found the fruit pies, Po-boys, taqueria,
Frantic in the sea of smells,
the Thai skewers stopped me,
no money, phone dead, a street wanderer.
Feeling a tap on my shoulder.
“What is the matter?” Ellie laughed. “Why the race? Here you dropped this.”
My wallet.
Clare Graith 