Boy at a Bank

Through the glass of Banco Central
I saw you with your hand out
dirt fingernails
dinner stains
jeans rolled at the ankle
hoping i might drop you a peso or two
from the ATM
I consider a close friend

They told us not to
when you call me
your amigo
or use your fragile legs
to limp towards my affection

I thought of Slumdog Millionare
the young begger missing his eyes
spooned out like the chocolate gelato
I treated myself to earlier this afternoon
"No dinero. Lo Siento"

I crossed the street
clutched my purse tight
turned back to catch you with your hand still out
waiting

Found myself in the bathroom of a cafe
where I sat on the toilet
after I flushed
hunched over
face in my hands
hoping you keep your eyes.