Hey mister, can you spare a tear?

  

I sat on the curb, cup in hand, eyes once moist, now desert dry.

"Hey mister, can you spare a tear?" I asked of the stranger.

"No, I've got to go kill some gays."

"Hey mister, can you spare a tear?"

"No, I have to shoot an innocent girl."

"Hey mister, can you spare a tear?"

"No, I have bombs to make."

"Hey mister, can you spare a tear?"

"No, I have to put more animals in captivity."

"Hey mister, can you spare a tear."

"No, I have terrorists to train and arm."

"Hey mister, can you spare a tear?"

"No, I have to pave paradise."

"Mam, can you spare a tear?"

"No, I have to secretly raise money for politicians."

This went on all day, always the same answer. Finally, little girl approached, tears in her eyes.

"Little one, why so many tears?"

"I've been sitting on that bench across the street and have been watching you all day. It made me so sad that no one could spare you a tear."

With that, I, too, began to cry.

"Mister," the little girl said, "why are you here?"

I replied, "I thought I came here to start a new chapter, but it's beginning to look like I'm here to close the book."

We both shed one more tear.