Chloe
For Chloe, three slices of black Forrest Ham.
Her tired meows that ache, her kitten teeth blackened
And I pet her with a heroin chic hand.
I hear of children with hair that falls out like broom straw,
Lilac bruises littering their knobby knees
And I hear that they are forgotten in 2008.
We are adults now, for those that didn't perish
But we may still bounce from hotel to shelter
Or take cover in the Churches for sinners.
I still think of that feline friend.
The memory jolts me there, every night.
It is all I have; all I can give.
You see that was my ration for the day
And the hunger is eating my ribs.
Mother, she gives Chloe the iron boot
By tossing her to the Giant wilderness
I sob for what feels like fifty lifetimes.
I never see Little Chloe again.
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