Children playing in the dirt
Tattered clothes handed down
From one villager to the next
The younger ones walk around
Bare bottomed and crying
Diapers are unknown
It’s not a luxury denying
Just something never seen before
So how could it be understood?
The home is made up of a few wooden boards
A tin roof tries to keep out the rain
The floor is more dirt just like outside
Not parquet wood to get stained
Not linoleum, ceramic tiles
And certainly no marble on which to slide
The kitchen is a fire in the corner
A single pot
And perhaps a pan
Dishes are hides that have been tanned
Utensils are hands scooping up food
I’m not trying to be rude
But there is no place to wash up
After a visit to the toilet out back
Perhaps inside another shack
Or just a hole in the ground with attitude

There is no electricity
No power grids to go down
Nightly entertainment is grandpa the clown
Not radio, TV
Or a great book to read
Computer games are not part
Of their consciousness
And the media does not exist
The shower/bath is a bucket of water
Bathing occurs occasionally
When a special time is in order

So if you are unhappy in your life
Go to Africa, Central & South America, Asia
Or other parts where strife
Is just a daily chore
To live each day
Without our customary luxuries
Like electricity and running water

I want to apologize to TRASK for so rudely attacking him on one of his poems and for using foul language. It was totally uncalled for. I should have handled it this way instead. Sorry my friend I will try harder next time.