Paco Estrada

when i was a wee lad bout the age of five,
i overheard my parents fighting late one night.
it seemed as though we had fallen on hard times.
managing their incomes to support my family of
three sisters and i was becoming more and more difficult.
they fought long into the night attempting to
set aside differences for the sake of
keeping the family together, attempting to find
solutions for our short comings with bills
and other needed expenses around the house.
it was then that i knew what i would have to do.
i was given no choice. i stared at my little piggy bank
that sat on the ledge of my night stand.
i had been saving for so long, every penny i found,
all the lunch money i stole, every dollar i pocketed
from the church's offering plate, but it was the only
logical resolution in times like these. holding that
piggy bank knowing that it just might be able
to stop my parents from fighting, i made a choice.
i took that piggy bank and walked out of my room
and straight to the backyard to bury it
so they would keep their crummy mitts off of it.