Written By

Freedom Chevalier

calloused, cracked knuckles defend

against dawn's first flush


chipped nails trim grime-washed

palms, eager to work


tuck shirttail into too-big trousers, straighten frayed cuffs without sleeve-buttons;


hold open doors.


suits, ties, phones, files



per diem procession


Could you believe it!


In-house coffee tastes like crap! I won't drink it!


I DON'T have any spare change. He should get a job!


outcast cups catch castaway coins tossed, en route.


8 hours procurement: $3.50


morning special:

small coffee and any regular donut $2.00


...a limited supply


evening exigency:

bed at hostel for one night $4.00


...a limited supply


another biting night on numbing city

cement, huddled between

threadbare sack and subterranean chasm

spewing foul vapors



carting workmen home to post-bachelor flats

baroque accoutrements: toilets, hot water

his life furnishes no surplus

Freedom Chevalier is a rehabilitated thespian and the author of countless feature articles, several dramatic plays, short stories, songs, poems and even a gritty thriller set in the world of Canadian stand-up comedy of the 1990s. She currently resides outside of Boston and is desperately trying to get back to the bay...and she really has heard every possible joke about her name.