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.
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