by Sandra S Corona
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Another night of hunger, without a heel of bread . . .
the only thing to eat is beans. The drink is water.
The growling turns to a rumble
and the legs underneath are jelly.
by the animal that lives within everybody.
Eventually robbery is the sad recourse
and shots ring out in the darkness.
It’s but a graze upon one’s back.
Whose growling . . .
All that was stolen was milk, bread and a little meat . . .
something for his innocent babies to live on, eat.
Unemployed, he even sold blood
but the money went for housing.
so he prowls . . .
behind the fancy restaurants in their garbage dumps.
It’s better than doing time when one can’t earn a dime.
There’re too proud to beg, get welfare,
and there’s a baby on the way.
comes the cops!
The wife, kids, can get help if there’s no ‘head of the house’
so the son-of-a-gun runs and another shot ‘pops’.
He is floundering on the earth . . .
saying good-bye to a sad life.
It’s the nether creatures come to fetch the man back home.
Poverty is a horrid thing!
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|Reviewed by na na (Reader)
|Yes hunger is growing and makes us do strange things to fill our stomachs. It is so easy to get into trouble. I understand this writing. Sandra, there should be a better way. Bill Murray|
|Reviewed by Sandie Angel
|Very sad indeed!.....There should be help for him!.....
~ Sandie and Buddy ~