Apparition of Grief.

Alone where the pavement butt the curve A crumpled form rummaging her legacy Of old paper bags and plastic, her nerve Frayed shaking hands urged by immediacy Plunged about like a frantic memory. Flies Cannot wait, and whiz from eye to to dish Disposable, each ear buzz her head defies Seems the rejection of her state for a wish Dried up and scattered like her broken things. Heart wasped by the vision, feel deep stings Of agony here, for in earth's richest country I, a third world child, should not ever see This deplorable depths of need, yet again I Must admit, the pit does not vomit up poor Broken people who are black. I only sigh Since her one son died defending this whore.