Poverty

Poverty

brown

drifting on desert air

cries:

Let me down, sand,

bury me!

Cover me deep!

Drop me, wind!

I'm tired,

you support me-

not enough-

yet you never let me go.

Stand!

You push me,

My feet are broken,

my legs collapse.

I fall.

You give me grains.  (They pelt my burnt skin raw).

But none to eat.

I ask for mercy.

My thoughts they burn a mouth already dry

and churn a stomach

bloated

Out!

I don't want light.

I see too clearly now.

Darkness, death,

to die,

as December ice,

winter shade

blue.

To lie thick then thin above a creek,

consoling

rolling off to sea.