My Cardboard Balcony

The Silver Spoon Was Brown by Belinda Roddie The silver spoon was brown with rust when they drew it from the baby's mouth after it was born. Although the boy would grow bloated with luxuries, it wasn't bound to last. The man had grown accustomed to garbage can flames on the street corner every night. He kept the rusty silver spoon with him to remind him of mansions, butlers, pools, gold pocket watches from his great-great-great- grandfather, and so many toys and games. True, he had grown up having it all, but he squandered life on golden frothy guilt. An opportunity better deserved by brilliant yet poor young boys and girls.

Starch stiffened the collar of his shirt as he tied the red bowtie until it was a monarch butterfly fluttering beneath his chin. Pinned to the small pocket was a medal. A simple medal at that, too, bearing no real emblem or embellishment. Silver, not gold. Tarnished, not shining. It glowed as brightly as his own dead teeth.