Help
Help
Murmers of an interview,
Murmers of the front desk,
Murmers of childeren playing,
All fill my ears.
The static of a dead television,
The tapping of a waiting man's foot,
In my periferal vision,
All I see.
The scent of new fallen rain,
As the door opens.
The woman's dollar store body spray,
All I smell.
Everyone here is reaching out,
For help.
The help that family will not provide,
And friendship alone cannot.
Each one here has a life to live.
All of them stuggling to survive.
As I look around this government office,
I feel all the hurt.
Copyright © Kayla Phillips | Year Posted 2010
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