Ghetto Blues
Children here have the life-span of flies
But leave no Where flies squat a trail of sickness
Breeds in the sharing of their space
The same agony of shame on each face
Death is loud here and we are silent who witness
The garbage truck did not come yesterday
The sun swelters the unburried cat
The tarmac sizzles in the sheen of fat
And the smell refuses to follow dreams away
No one is bigger than washing the scum away
But the pipes drip like saline into the veins
And hands soaked with more than tobacco stains
Fidget in the pockets that have fretted away
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2011
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